Happy Go Lucky
by MagicByMerlin
Summary: When Merlin is kidnapped and taken to work on a ship with a mysterious name, Arthur must try to find and get him back. But will the two boys be able to survive the reappearance of an old enemy...? SEQUEL TO DEVIL MAY CARE
1. Prologue

**Firstly, I would just like to thank my two good friends, Loopstagirl and Sannepan, without whom I would probably never have started this fic, let alone finished. I can't stress enough just how much I owe you, guys, thank you so much!**

**Well, here it is, Happy Go Lucky (at long last), named so - simply because it ties with the prequel, Devil May Care. You'll probably want to read that one first, but if you want to read something just because you're bored, then I guess you could get along without doing so.**

**Rated T to be safe. Contains "Merlin-Bashing". **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fic and deem it worthy of a review or two… *wink wink***

**Genre(s): hurt/comfort/angst/adventure/friendship/bromance/and a touch of fluff**

**Word count: 50,000-ish**

**Length taken to write: 80 days**

**Note: Some of you might remember this as preview from Devil May Care, but it has changed a little here and there - I've tweaked a few words. The real story, however, starts in chapter one: this is just a prologue. **

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_A Flash._

_Leviathan._

_Gone._

_Upwards._

_Down._

_Crashing._

_Water._

_Darkness. _

Brun found himself jerking awake, almost screaming. His tensed shoulders relaxed as he saw his room in the inn, not the shadowy darkness and ice of the sea. Dreams. He kept having these dreams. They weren't natural, he decided while quickly lighting the candle on the bedside table. A warm orange light filled the room, casting flickering shadows across his face as he stood up and walked over to the window.

He looked out over Brinkwell. Having lived there most of his life, he knew all the streets and alleyways like the back of his hand. The seaside town was awash in moonlight, making everything seem slightly eerie.

He heard the door creak as someone opened it, and he turned around to see a man. His attire was rough; several silver earrings littered his face, as did a multitude of scars and tattoos. Brun had never liked him, but he was necessary. His reasons for disliking him were many. The first was that the man had an exceptionally ugly tattoo on the very back of his neck – an eye, bright yellow and staring. It unnerved Brun and made him never want to fall into its gaze. There were numerous other reasons, but Brun did not have time to go over them as the man suddenly spoke, his voice deep and hard.

"Sir."

He was always so polite around Brun, but the old fisherman knew better. He had seen him in the taverns and pubs around the town before. The man always started the fights, and it was only on rare occasion you found him sober – another of his reasons for disliking him.

"Sheridan," Brun said with the smallest nod of the head to acknowledge his presence.

"We were wondering of our orders, sir," the man went on, leaning on the doorframe and running a huge hand through his greasy hair.

"Yes, orders," Brun snapped to attention.

He moved over to the table by the end of the bed where a chest sat. Removing a key from one of his pockets, Brun pushed it in the hole and twisted it, receiving clicks from the chest.

Sheridan looked on as he took out a small, fist-sized cube. He had seen it many times before, but he was still amazed by the mere presents of the thing. It was almost as if it whispered to him, telling him things he couldn't understand. He whished more than anything that he knew what it said, but instead of running over to the cube and snatching it away from Brun, he remained by the door, silent as ever. It was in his nature to be silent. Still. Unmoved.

Brun set the cube down on the table, only pausing a moment to take in the silver swirls on it's sides. It was mesmerizing. On the beach he had been washed up on after his ship was sunk, he had found it. It had been broken – he had thought beyond repair – but then it began to speak to him. It promised him a ship, a crew, a new life. He'd had nothing, nothing to his name. When it had promised him these things he could do nothing but accept them. He needed to be on a ship, out at sea. It was in his blood.

It had told him its plan. It would get him a ship and crew in exchange for his help. When inquired as to what the help was, the cube had only specified 'to help us return' – whatever that meant. It seemed like a deal to Brun, so he complied.

He wasn't sure how, but it had rebuilt itself. Once it had been almost smashed it two, split right down the middle, only intact by precious few millimetres, but it had made itself whole again. While witnessing it, Brun was positive it was magical. He had then been afraid. The law clearly stated that anything or anyone magical would be sentenced to death. However, when the cube had told him that no one would find out, his thoughts reverted. In truth, that part of his mind was ever so hazy…

But no matter – he had more important things to do, one of which was receiving the orders Sheridan required.

"Are you there?" he asked the cube in his hands.

"We are always here," came the reply.

"Sheridan wants his orders."

"We need the rest of the crew by tomorrow. Make sure he gets every one we need."

"Yes."

Brun replaced the cube in the chest and turned to Sheridan who looked at him with those horrible dark eyes of his.

"You must find everyone we need. We set sail tomorrow," Brun told him.

Sheridan nodded once, and left with a sweep of his long battered coat. The door closed behind him with a resounding thud.

Brun sighed and made his way back to the window. He felt sorry for whomever Sheridan and his men would pressgang today. The cube had told him to hire Sheridan to kidnap other men for the crew. That's who he was – a hit man. He went out on Brun's orders, taking innocent men for the crew. Brun felt bad about this, ever so bad, but when his conscience had gotten the better of him, and he'd consulted the cube, everything began to get hazy again…

What wasn't foggy in his mind, however, was the ship. He wasn't sure of how the cube had got that ship, though he had some small memory of it hurting the previous owner…

Best not to think about that, he decided while gazing at the huge ship, docked up at the harbour, its name painted smartly on the side in white.

Emrys.


	2. Chapter One

**Okay, this is where the story really begins! I hope you all like it! ^^**

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The only way to describe the sun on that day was scorching. It sat, suspended in the sky, glowing with a majesty that even kings envied. The sky itself was a riot of colour – oranges and reds streaked across the heavens, bathing the rolling clouds in gold as they sailed across the earth. There was the lightest of breezes racing through the trees, whispering quietly to the wildlife that scurried about the forest floor.

Merlin loved days like this. They were calm and peaceful – totally different from his hectic life as Arthur's servant. He swung his bare feet in the warm air as he gazed at the lake before him, admiring the reflection of the autumn scene that was shimmering gently on the glassy surface. Mountains, awash in a fiery gold, and Chestnut trees, crowned with leaves like amber jewels, gazed back at him as he picked up a small, flat stone beside him, and with an expert flick of his wrist, sent it skimming over the water, distorting the scenic image as it sailed across the pool.

He heard something behind him, a sort of scuffle of tiny pebbles showering down the ledge he was lounging on, but he chose to ignore it. The day was too perfect to be interrupted.

Turning back to the lake, he found the stone he'd thrown had sunk, leaving a line of circular ripples were it had skipped over the water. He picked up another. Just before he threw it, he let the magic within him slide to his fingers and sparkle in his eyes. The pebble shot through the air and skidded over the lake, soon disappearing on the far side. Merlin watched it with a blissful grin on his face.

Behind him, the noise of upset pebbles sounded for a second time. He was quite sure it was closer now. As he looked around, he barely had time to register a blur that suddenly smacked into him at full speed. In a split second, him and the blur were hurtling over the edge of the rock that he had been happily sprawled on. They hit the water with an almightily splash. Merlin quickly found his footing and felt his magic surge up within him, ready for anything, but it died away as he saw who was before him.

"You should have seen your face!" the soaking wet prince laughed, holding his sides as if they were about to split.

"I thought you went home," Merlin said churlishly before beginning to wade out of the lake.

"I did," Arthur defended whilst trying not to laugh, "but then I came back."

Merlin reached the edge of the water and pulled himself back onto the ledge, grimacing at his drenched shirt that now clung tightly to his slight frame. He pulled it off and rung it out, glaring at Arthur.

"Prat," he muttered under his breath, earning himself a raised eyebrow.

"What did you say?" Arthur asked innocently, pretending not to have heard.

"Nothing," Merlin said as he pulled the shirt back over his head and moved on to ringing out his neckerchief.

You may be wondering why they were at the lake, so in order to let you understand, I must take you back a few hours to when they had been on a hunting expedition.

It was relatively late into the autumn, but it was still very warm. All the decent game had taken shelter from the relentless sun, and could not be found – even by Arthur and his expertise. When the two boys had also begun to suffer from the heat, the prince lead the way to a lake where they had thrown off their clothes and leapt into the cool water.

"I'll race you to the lake," Arthur had said, smirking.

"What? I don't want to run. I don't like running," Merlin protested sulkily. Arthur had only smiled and punched him good-naturedly.  
"You just don't want to try because you know I'll win," the prince started walking, knowing Merlin wouldn't let him have the last word.

"Wait a moment!" Merlin had begun hastily. "I said I didn't like to run, not that I couldn't run faster than you."  
"Oh, yeah? That's what I wanted to hear. The lake. You and me. The first to arrive gets the biggest steak at lunch."

"Alright, you're on. Sounds fair."  
"Fair?" Arthur had spluttered, smirking. "I'm sorry, _Mer_lin, but if _you_ are running against _me_ it's never fair."  
"In your dreams…" Merlin growled under his breath. "On the count of three," on his word, they had both began to prepare, jostling for a better space and tensing up. "One…two…three!"

Just a second later, Arthur was far ahead of Merlin with a sudden burst of speed. In less than a minute the prince was sure he was going to win. Frustrated, Merlin had looked at his fast disappearing back as he struggled to keep up. It was impossible for him to win this. He would have to stand Arthur's jokes for the rest of the day…and possibly further…

That was too much for him. There was only one thing to do. Something illegal, something wrong, but his pride for a long, long time was at stake.

"ástellan ymbrenfæsten."

From where he was ahead, Arthur suddenly found a tree root slipping under his foot and tripping him up. He landed on the forest floor with a painful thump. Before he could register what had happened, a blur shot past him.

Muttering curses to himself, the prince climbed to his feet and tore after Merlin, who was fast disappearing amongst the trees. Merlin arrived first after this, and punched the air, grinning like a manic just as his friend came bursting through the trees, puffing.  
"You must be kidding me," Arthur had exclaimed in disbelief.

"Don't worry – I wont tell anyone," Merlin said, clapping Arthur on the arm as he headed for the water. The prince had just stared at his retreating back with incredulity.

Some people (namely Uther) would probably frown upon this as if it were something nasty on the underside of his or her shoe. Servants and princes didn't mix. It wasn't the done thing.

Arthur himself would have unquestionably agreed with this when he and Merlin had first met. At that particular time in his life, the prince would have held a speck of dirt in higher esteem than the clumsy, gawky, idiot _Mer_lin who had turned up one day out of the blue. But now, after the adventures that had followed their first meeting and particularly the recent events with the cube, their friendship had grown considerably. Merlin had shown he would die for Arthur, and the prince in his turn had also displayed the same fierce loyalty and affection. To loose Merlin now would be like someone tearing off one of Arthur's own limbs. Why should he care about what his father thought? Merlin was his friend and no one was going to tell him differently.

So, as a result of this, they had amused themselves in the lake, seeing who could dive off the highest rock, swinging on overhanging branches, dunking each other under the water and being generally immature.

After a while, when it began to get late, Arthur had gone home, but Merlin stayed. He wasn't going to confide in _anyone_, not even the prince, that he liked staring at the sky. When he gazed up at the heavens he felt most connected with his magic. It was a glorious feeling – not one to be missed. However much he enjoyed Arthur's company, Merlin found that he sometimes had to be alone with nothing but his magic.

It seemed Arthur didn't (or perhaps couldn't) respect this and had so decided to scare him by jumping out from behind him. A classic really but it worked nevertheless.

"Are you quite sure its _nothing_?" Arthur asked, smirking as he lay back in the water, hands resting behind his head and an infuriatingly smug expression on his face.

"Quite," Merlin responded with a scowl that covered his amusement.

"I could have sworn you called me a prat," the prince went on airily.

"Well, now you come to mention it, yes, you are," Merlin said brashly with a dangerous quirk of his eyebrows that was just begging for trouble.

Arthur raised one of his own eyebrows and pouted as he made his way out of the water and pulled himself onto the rock beside his friend. Before answering he picked a blade of grass, stuck it in his mouth and began swinging his legs.

"And why would you come out with such an outrageous statement?"

"Where to begin…" Merlin said, looking up into the sky as if the answers he was looking for were hidden there. "Well, there's the constantly nightmarish job, for starters."

"The _what_ job?" Arthur snapped suddenly, looking quite affronted.

"What do you mean?" Merlin asked, baffled, almost flinching at the hard stare the prince was now casting in his direction.

"Don't pretend you don't know," Arthur said, turning away stiffly. "And don't go acting all innocent either. I know you see them too…"

Merlin tried to understand what he was getting at before he realized the mistake he'd made by mentioning 'nightmares'. Dreams and nightmares were not something to be mentioned at the present. The effects of the cube were still existent. The visions weren't half as bad as before, but they were still dreadful. Merlin would often find himself jerking awake, a cold sweat on his brow and adrenalin pulsing through his veins. He wondered how long it would take for the aftermath to wear off – it had been almost two weeks since the whole dammed thing had ended.

As he glanced in Arthur's direction, he found the prince looked almost scared – something Merlin rarely witnessed. It was clear that the dreams haunted Arthur just as badly as they did him.

"Sorry," he said quietly, busying himself by pulling a few stalks of grass out of the dusty ground.

"Its alright," Arthur sighed and folding his arms over his chest. "Anyway, I'm not that much of a slave driver…am I?"

"Well –" Merlin began with a gleeful glint in his eye.

"Don't answer that," t he prince said quickly before he could go on.

Merlin grinned. He noticed he had a strand of pondweed behind his ear and pulled it off. Suddenly, there was a sharp shock of pain racing up his arm as he reached for the weed, and he quickly glanced down at his forearm. The hole was still there. It was better, miles better in fact, but it still ached from time to time, especially when his arm was jolted. He looked at the raw flesh with contempt. It brought back bad memories.

Merlin didn't notice Arthur was now staring at the wound he had caused with a great deal of shame. The prince knew it had been an accident, but he still couldn't forgive himself, even if Merlin had.

He gingerly put out a hand and touched the edge of the injury softly. Merlin flinched and withdrew his arm, leaving Arthur feeling terrible.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean –"

"It's fine, Arthur," Merlin sighed and pulled his sleeve over the gash. "It doesn't really hurt any more."

"Liar."

They shared a smile for a moment. Merlin had never been able to lie.

"It's getting late," Merlin decided while observing the thin slither of sun left on the horizon. "We should be heading for home."

"Well, that's why I came back," Arthur informed him. "Gaius was mentioning something about getting him some herbs."

"Herbs?" Merlin repeated. "Which kind? Maybe I can pick them up on the way back."

"Parsley and Chive, I think," Arthur responded, standing up and stretching leisurely. "Come on, I know where we can get some."

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**Review or suffer Uther's wrath...**


	3. Chapter Two

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Its really cool that you're all liking it so far!**

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The forest was much cooler than by the lake. The floor was carpeted in a dry, dusty blanket of dead leaves that rustled and crunched underfoot as the two boys picked their way through the lofty trees, Arthur leading the way. He had played, hunted and camped in the forest since he was very young and knew the place better than the back of his hand, therefore he knew exactly where to find the herbs Merlin needed to 'appease Gaius's wrath'.

Merlin, however, was hopelessly lost and had no idea where they were. If he lost sight of Arthur now he would never find his way out of the wood, especially now a murky sheet of night was falling slowly over the forest, causing the shadows to darken, and the owls in the uppermost tops of the trees come alive. He spun round as one of them hooted and swept silently through the air behind him, but he only earned himself an amused smirk from Arthur to which he returned with a wry narrowing of his eyes.

After a few minutes, they found a patch of Parsley, and Merlin dropped to his knees beside it to start picking the green herb, using his scarf as a knapsack to keep them in. As he picked each stalk with extreme care and odd fascination, Arthur began to get bored. He looked around for something interesting to do, and noticed that the tree he was currently leaning on didn't look that bad for climbing.

Swinging up onto a low branch, he pulled himself into the embrace of the tree and began to clamber up the trunk. As the prince reached the top, he found that the view was far better than he'd expected it to be. While pushing a few thin branches out of his face, he looked out over what would one day be his kingdom.

There was the castle, far off in the distance, pale in the diminishing light. Tall plumes of smoke rose from the hundreds of chimneys in the surrounding town, and small orange lights winked in the windows.

How was he going to rule over all this? It just seemed too big for him.

Arthur lent on the trunk of the tree and sighed at the world. It was at times like this he felt like a small boy again – not the man he knew he was. His knowledge didn't seem to make any difference, however, and he just felt like he was shrinking as he looked over the vast kingdom.

"Arthur?" Merlin called from the foot of the tree, pulling him from his thoughts. His voice sounded slightly panicky…

"Yeah, what?" Arthur said, looking down to try and see his friend, but there were too many branches in the way.

"ARTHU –" Merlin's cry was suddenly smothered by something.

"Merlin?" Arthur swung down a few meters where he could clearly see all around the clearing. "Merlin?" he said again, a little louder this time when he saw no sign of his servant.

Suddenly, he felt a hand latch onto his ankle and before he knew it, he was being yanked out of the tree. The ground was surprisingly hard as he hit it. Stunned, he lay there second before quickly leaping to his feet.

As he saw a band of armed men before him, one holding a limp and unconscious Merlin over his shoulder, the prince drew his sword, anger boiling up inside him.

"Who are you? Let him go," Arthur growled in the finest princely tone of voice he could conjure, squaring his shoulders and holding the sword out with a perfectly straight and expert arm.

"I think we've upset him, lads!" one of the men drawled.

"I'll say it only one more time, so listen closely. Let – him – go," the prince snarled dangerously quietly, his eyes smouldering.

"Ah, well, we can't do that, you see," the man said, walking up so close that Arthur's sword just prodded his chest. "Now, I suggest you put that thing down," he gestured at the sword, "and come quietly with us."

"I don't think so," Arthur said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for one of them to make a move.

"Oh," the man pretended to look surprised, and smirked infuriatingly. "Well, we'll just have to do things the hard way, then," he motioned to the men behind him who each drew a lethal looking weapon and began to slowly approach Arthur, who gallantly held his ground, keeping his eyes on as many of them as he could.

For a second, agitation hung thickly in the air as the men shuffled their feet, waiting for the opportune moment.

Suddenly, a man to his left flew at him but he sidestepped smartly, dodged another threatening sword and spun round to face his opponents. They quickly regrouped again, and without a moment's hesitation, all shot at him with a war cry.

It was ten to one. There was no hope for Arthur, even if he was the best fighter in all of Camelot. A crack over the head from the butt of a sword sent him sinking to the ground beside Merlin who had been abandoned on the floor.

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Arthur woke to the sound of a fire crackling. He lifted his head, and had a moment of dizziness before he managed to see where he was. Blinking in the flickering light from the fire, he gazed at the men who were gathered around the flames, each and every one holding a flagon of ale in a hand and laughing merrily at some joke one of them seemed to have just told.

The prince looked up at the sky and found that it was around midnight. Stars speckled the sky, clearly visible from behind the thin clouds that drifted over the full moon. Bringing his eyes back to earth, Arthur noticed that there were half a dozen or so other men asleep on the ground, all tied up. After struggling a little, he discovered he also had his hands bound behind his back with a coarse rope that dug terribly into his wrists.

He growled crossly and lent back on whatever it was he was propped up against. Thinking it to be a tree he was surprised when it suddenly stirred and groaned with a familiar voice.

"Merlin? Is that you?" he asked anxiously.

"Arthur? Yes, yes its me," Merlin tried to turn around but found that his hands were tied to Arthur's, which was the similar story with a few of the other captives around the camp.

"Are you alright?" Arthur said, dropping his voice to a whisper as one of the men by the fire turned around and swept a gaze over the prisoners.

"Yeah, fine," Merlin replied, also in a whisper. "What do they want?"

"I don't know," Arthur shuffled himself on the leaf-covered ground to try and get away from a tree root that was painfully prodding his backside.

"Ow!" Merlin complained as the root decided to poke him. "Arthur –"

"Shh," Arthur jabbed him in the back with a finger to silence him, wanting to hear what the men were saying, for they were talking quietly amongst themselves. The prince knew, being trained in these matters, that any information could be helpful in the future. As Merlin subsided into a disgruntled silence, Arthur pricked up his ears.

"When'll Sheridan be 'ere, d'you reckon?" one of them asked the man beside him, filling his flagon with more ale.

"Who can tell? He said he'd be late, anyways. Had to oversee the cargo transfer to the Emrys."

Merlin, who was now listening just as intently as Arthur was, stiffened. The prince felt him tense up behind him, and turned his head.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"Nothing…" Merlin replied. He ignored Arthur and tried to hear what the men were saying. The young prince, albeit unconvinced, also turned back to the fire.

"What time did he say he'd leave Brinkwell?" the man went on, taking a swig of his drink.

"Can't remember…" came the reply. "D'you reckon he'll be happy with today's spoils?"

"He's a professional press-ganger. I'm sure he'll know what's good and what's not."

Thinking the same thing, Merlin and Arthur exchanged worried glances. So these guys were press-gangers? If that was true, then this didn't look good…

"Yeah, but I mean, look at that one!" the man pointed at Merlin who instantly pretended to be unconscious along with Arthur. "He's nothing but a bag of bones! He'll be no good on a ship!"

"Yeah, well, we'll see."

"And what about Brun?"

"Brun's still in Brinkwell. You know that."

"No, I meant, don't you think he's a little…odd…?"

"Well –" the man started but cut himself off. "Wait…someone's coming…"

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**Whadaya think? Review worthy?**

**PS: Does anyone have news on any of the Merlin episodes to come? Any rumours circulating? **

**PPS: Constructive criticism very welcome! :D**


	4. Chapter Three

**Some say that the Merlin episode today was very Morgana/Merlin.**

**Some say that Mordred has tantrum problems.**

**All I know is that it was totally amazing.**

**Just to celebrate, I'm giving you the new chapter of HGL! **

**Oh, you lucky things.**

**And once again - thank you so much for all the simply amazing reviews! It totally makes my day when people put in the time to give my feedback! HUGS ALL ROUND!**

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There was indeed the sound of horse's hooves approaching, and after a moment, a black stallion and rider emerged from the gloom that surrounded the trees. Everyone by the fire all raised their mugs and cheered as the rider dismounted and sauntered over to them, his long battered coat flying out behind him.

"Sorry I'm late. How's the stock?" he said, pulling off his gloves and smirking.

"Ah, Sheridan, nice of you turn up. They're all ready for inspection," one of the men informed him, gesturing at the captives.

The rider began to make his way over to the prisoners, many of which had woken up and were now staring at him fearfully. He picked a stick up off the floor and lent it on his shoulder as he began to pick his way through them, jabbing randomly at the men as he past them.

"Yeah, he'll do," he said, towering over a young lad.

"Please, sir, what will I do for?" the boy asked with a quavering voice, eyes wide.

"No questions," Sheridan snapped and pushed him roughly to the floor before continuing through the prisoners, announcing their uses as he passed them.

He came to Merlin and Arthur after three of the captives had been chosen and taken away to the other side of the clearing.

"Hmm, I'm liking the look of Muscles here," he observed and stabbed Arthur's arm with the stick, "but what are we meant to do with Skinny?"

"Shut it," both Merlin and Arthur said together with equally sour glares.

Maddeningly, the man chuckled and peered down at the prince with small, dark, eyes. He poked Arthur's forehead with the stick and rolled the prince's head towards the firelight to get a better look at him. As the shadows on Arthur's face disappeared, he took a sharp intake of breath.

"Why is _he_ here?" Sheridan demanded.

"Eh?" one of the men by the fire got up and ambled over. He was thrust towards Arthur by an angry hand as he neared.

"It's the prince of Camelot, you fool! We'll have guards on our tail for the rest of our lives!"

"The prince? Are you sure?" the man said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Positive. I saw him when I went to the castle once," Sheridan growled.

"Right…" the other looked defiantly panicky. "And what about the other one? He'll be of no use on a ship. I mean, look at him! He's nothing but skin and bones!"

"We've gotta bring back one of them. You know Brun will have our necks if we don't. It'll have to be the skinny one."

"We'll take him to the Emrys with the rest of 'em," the man decided. "What are we going to do with _his royal highness_?"

"Knock him out and take him away somewhere. We don't want any trouble so do it quiet like, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah," the man sighed. "But there's no hurry, right? Come have a beer."

Sheridan and the other man swaggered back to the fire, seemingly having forgotten their captives for now. As Sheridan turned, Merlin caught sight of a gruesome tattoo on the back of his neck – a lidless yellow eye, staring. The young warlock shivered.

"C'mon, we need to get out of here. Now," Arthur decided, looking around for some means of escape. Merlin, however, wasn't listening.

"They're gonna take me…but not you…" he mumbled half to himself, staring into oblivion.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Arthur snapped, his voice a little harsher than he had intended it to be. "I'm not letting them take either of us," he said more gently, leaning ever so slightly into Merlin's back to let him know he was there.

"There's a pack over there," Merlin said shakily, pointing his head over to a tree where a heap of bundles lay. "I think there's a knife in it."

Shuffling as quietly as was humanly possible, they managed to make their way over the leafy floor to the tree. Using the tip of his shoe, Merlin awkwardly nudged the knife out of the knapsack and it fell to the floor with a soft thud.

"Now what?" Merlin asked, unsuccessfully trying to scrape the knife towards him with his heel.

"Turn around," Arthur responded, keeping a wary eye on the men by the fire.

They turned around, so that the prince was almost sitting on the dagger. He grabbed it, feeling the cold of the blade, and pushed it up between the ropes that bound his and Merlin's hands together. After a tense moment of rubbing the knife back and forth and receiving no victory, the rope finally came apart.

Merlin brushed the twine off his wrist and massaged his grazed skin, while Arthur stuck the knife into his belt and began rummaging through the packs for a sword. Finding one, he stood up. Motioning for Merlin to keep silent, they began to creep away from the clearing.

Suddenly, there was a painfully loud thump, and Arthur spun around in horror to see Merlin, face down on the floor, having just tripped over a root of the tree.

At that point, the prince became ready to murder.

"Oi, what's going on?" a man by the fire quizzed, hearing the noise. He caught sight of the pair; Arthur pulling Merlin up roughly, cuffing him over the head and darting away through the trees, dragging his servant with him.

"THE PRISONERS HAVE ESCAPED!"

In a split second, the forest was alive with the alarm of both crows and men, who grabbed their weapons and hurtled after Merlin and Arthur. The dark birds in the tops of the trees continued to cackle, as the two boys took refuge behind a large oak. Arthur drew the sword and threw the scabbard away, taking a deep breath.

"Okay, what ever happens, stick with me," he told Merlin who nodded furiously, eyes like saucers. "I wont let them take you. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Merlin said quietly.

"I don't," the prince reassured him, staring deep into the other's eyes.

There was a crack of a twig, and Arthur turned to see an ugly head appear around the side of the tree, grinning mirthlessly. Ten or so other men also emerged from the surrounding gloom, each and every one brandishing a weapon of some kind.

"What? NO!" Arthur yelled as yet another press-ganger arose and clubbed Merlin over the head.

Merlin was out like a light and fell limply to the floor where the man hauled him onto his shoulder. His temper rising, Arthur made to send his sword plunging deep into the man's heart, but another kicked him hard in the stomach, sending him crashing back against the tree.

"Don't you know who I am?" Arthur stood up quickly and picked up his sword, outraged that anyone would dare to treat him and his friend like this.

"Of course we do, young prince!" one of them scoffed. "That's why we're here," the man smiled at him, showing his awful, dirty teeth. "We don't like you father, the great king Uther, and we know we can't kidnap his kid – that would mean a death sentence," all the men walked slowly in a circle, getting closer and closer to Arthur. "But your servant on the other hand…"

"Don't you dare touch him," Arthur hissed, putting the sword close to the man's throat.

"I wouldn't do that, son," the other man who had Merlin threatened, snarling. The young servant slung over his shoulder was unconscious – he wasn't frightened or scared. Arthur felt grateful for that.

"By the way, we don't want to hurt him. We just want you to know that we're taking him with us, and you're not going to see him again. Not _ever_."

Arthur took a step forward, but a moment later, something hit his head. It was fast, too fast. He couldn't prevent it.

The prince got to his knees, swaying. His forehead started to bleed. He heard the men laughing, and although his sight was blurred, he could see them walking away, Merlin lying on one of their shoulders. Arthur blinked dazedly, reaching out a hand in a helpless attempt to claw Merlin away from them.

"Leave him…alone," Arthur mumbled a moment before he hit the ground and lay there, unconscious.

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**I'm in a totally hyper mood at the moment, therefore it is quite possible you might get the next chapter pretty soon. Also because it took a while for me to update with this one. IT WAS MY BROTHER'S FAULT! BLAME HIM!**

***cough***

**Oh, and you know what? You're actually rather lucky to get this chapter at all! I was in a car crash yesterday! I could have died! :O**

**Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating...**

**But it's dramatic, and that's good for business.**

**Right?**


	5. Chapter Four

**Okay, just to confirm: I DID NOT DIE IN THE CAR CRASH. Quite obviously. I did get whip-lash on my neck, however - and its pretty painful - but it was SO worth it. Believe it or not, it was totally the most exciting moment of my life! And I lived through it, which has to be an added bonus. But I guess that depends on whose opinion you're looking at... **

**By the way, this is where... *dramatic pause* ...THE MERLIN-BASHING BEGINS! Bashing-fans will be pleased to know that throughout this fic, Merlin is a constant source of bashing-fun. Poor Merlin. *snuggles* **

**Special thanks goes to Random-Cheesecake for all the reviews, as it does to enigma-kar, Sannepan, wobbles11, MerlinStar, Isis the Sphinx, Loopstagirl, CrayonsPink, Dianne, darkwolf4 and Saph4! I hope that list can grow even bigger in time! Thank you, guys!**

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The sunlight of morning opened Arthur's eyes. Before sitting up, he had a moment of nausea as a dull thumping pain suddenly developed over his right eye, reminding him of where one of the thugs had hit him. Everything was hazy, like a fog clouding his minds eye, but after a brief extent of time he remembered Merlin. He looked left and right but found he was alone. They had taken him.

The prince climbed to his feet. A ringing noise buzzed erratically around in his sore head, thoroughly annoying him.

"Merlin?" Arthur shouted, cupping his hands over his mouth, but knowing that he would get no reply. He wasn't mistaken.

As he dropped his arms again, a glimpse of something red caught his eye. It was an only too familiar scarf, hanging from one of the boughs of the tree. He pulled it off the branch, careful not to tear it on the smaller twigs, and gripped it tightly in a clenched fist.

The touch of the familiar item suddenly caused fury to bubble up inside him, coming dangerously close to exploding point. He took a deep breath to calm himself. But what was there to be calm about? His best friend had been kidnapped and taken to work on ship – probably never to be seen again. But maybe there was a small glimmer of hope…

Arthur only vaguely remembered the conversation he had overheard by the fire, but there were two words stuck fast in his mind. Emrys and Brinkwell. Emrys must be the name of the ship, and Brinkwell was of course, the port. This was everything Arthur needed. All he had to do was somehow get a ship and follow The Emrys until he caught up with it.

Then he could rescue Merlin.

But if he was to save his servant, however, then he was going to need help. Unfortunately that would mean asking his father's permission, which meant he was probably going to be rejected…again.

The prince sighed, frustrated, and looked down at the scarf in his hand. He rubbed a thumb over it and bit his lip. Well, there was nothing for it. He would have to confront the king.

Stumbling a little, still nauseous, Arthur began to began to stagger back through the forest towards the great white castle in the distance.

It wasn't far. He could make it…right?

* * *

Someone screamed as they saw a lone figure shuffle through the gates of the city. Recognizing the man, a few guards rushed over to the prince who was swaying on his feet and had a large lump on his forehead where he had apparently been hit.

"Are you alright, sire?" one of the knights asked, supporting the angry prince.

"Leave me alone!" Arthur growled, waving them away. "I'm fine," he had to take a moment to gather his bearings and wait for the world to stop spinning beneath him before asking, "Where's the king?"

Not even waiting for a reply, Arthur continued to stumble across the vast courtyard, clutching his throbbing head with a hand. He staggered up the steps and quickly made his way to his room, hoping to clean himself up before asking an audience with the king. Then again, on second thoughts, maybe it was a better idea to keep this private. His father would be in his chambers, rifling through reports at this time of day. Arthur could go there instead of making a public enouncement in court.

Having made up his mind, the prince hurriedly took a bath and dug out some clean clothes. After emerging from behind his screen, he caught sight of Merlin's scarf which he had left on the table. He walked up to it slowly, almost gingerly. Before he knew what he was doing, he picked it up and knotted it around his neck, just like Merlin always had it.

He twitched.

Tucking the best of the scarf into his shirt, feeling a little odd, he made his way out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Merlin had no idea where he was. The hood over his head made sure of it. Deciding that he wasn't going to discover anything by sight, he concentrated on his other senses.

The first thing that hit him was the smell – a horrid mixture of sweaty bodies and dead fish. The second was that he was being jostled around with what seemed like at least a dozen or so other men.

Also, his hands were bound behind his back again, but this time, not with Arthur's. Arthur was gone. Merlin didn't even know if the men had left him alive. All he remembered was being smacked hard over the head and then…nothing, just this jolting and bumping and the sound of what must be seagull's overhead.

He had tried many times to remove the dark hood from his head, but had received either a glob of spit on his shoe or a laugh at best, as was the same when he had attempted to talk to someone who was walking along by the side of the cart – which is what Merlin believed it to be. Judging by the voice of that someone, it had been one of the men by the fire – Merlin recognized it.

The heat amongst the bodies he was crammed up against was almost unbearable. It was stifling and humid, and Merlin had a stupid urge to tear off his sweaty clothes and jump into something, preferably ice cold water.

If only…

A particularly large lurch of the cart sent a nearby man crashing into him, thereby knocking Merlin into someone behind him.

"Oi, watch were yer going!" the man snapped and elbowed Merlin hard into yet another man, who kicked him angrily in the leg, causing him to crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs, confusion and fear.

"Keep it down," someone hissed, and there was the sound of a tarpaulin moving as a man stepped inside the back of the cart that had just came to an abrupt halt with a jerk that sent everyone careering forward.

"All right, everyone out," the man barked, pulling nearby captives out of the wagon.

A riot of questions erupted at the sound of his voice, but he ignored everything put to him, and continued to file the men out.

Still lying in a heap on the floor, Merlin tried his best to dodge the crushing feet of the people around him, but he soon found himself trampled and kicked by countless boots and shoes. Everything was a confusing blur of sound, movement and heat. The cacophony blinded all the young warlocks senses and he didn't hear the angry tone telling him to get out.

He felt a sharp toe impact with his stomach and he quickly scrambled to his knees, coughing a little from all the dust and grime that had flown up his nose.

"Didn't you hear me? I said get out!"

Merlin found himself on the floor again as he was punched hard across the face. Feeling blood drizzling out of his mouth, he climbed to his feet. He wasn't fast enough and the man grabbed the scruff of his shirt, throwing him hard out of the cart where he was caught by huge rough hands and passed between grasps, up a stairs.

The inside of the hood, though stained with his own blood, was considerably lighter, and judging by the fresh air on his skin, Merlin deduced that he was outside. But it didn't last for long.

Once again, he was plunged into darkness and thrown into someone who just shoved him away to a wall. Merlin found it was curved and most likely made of wood.

As he slumped, exhausted, busied and breathless to the floor, there was the sound of footsteps and a voice spoke.

"Alright, everyone," it was Sheridan, "welcome to your new home."

There was the sound of fingers being snapped, and all of a sudden, the men around Merlin were taking either deep breathes, or just subsiding into a muted silence as their hoods were removed.

Merlin's own hood was yanked off carelessly, and light blinded him for a second even though the place was murky and dark. He, along with a handful of other men, appeared to be in some kind of deck of a ship. Barrels, boxes and huge coils of ropes lined the sides of the room. And, swinging slightly, hammocks were strung between rafters and thick wooden pillars. Everything seemed filthy, covered in years of salty grime. Merlin was oblivious at the time, as he stared at his surroundings, but he was soon to discover that he would be staying a long time on this ship that was now beginning to set sail.

"CAST OFF!" someone above yelled; his voice slightly muffled by the ceiling.

Calls of 'cast off' sounded for a moment and there was a dinging of a bell as the ship's anchor was pulled in on its huge chain.

"Right," Sheridan said, pacing up and down the room, glaring at everyone with dark eyes, "quick update."

Everybody stared back. Some were wide-eyed and fearful, while others just looked plain scared, but a few seemed to belong perfectly, roughly dressed, fully armed and filthy.

"You have been brought upon this good ship – The Emrys – to serve as crew. Ask no questions and I tell you no lies," Sheridan went on, digging his hands into the pockets of his dark, green-ish brown coat. "Rule one," he held up a grubby finger, "I, being boson of this vessel, must be obeyed at all times. Anyone who disobeys will be either thrown overboard or given twenty lashes."

Everyone swallowed. "

"This is the first-mate, James Edwards," Sheridan announced the arrival of a man who wasn't smartly dressed, but positively cleaner than the rest of the inhabitants of the deck. He had a rather boring face but his hair was wild and curly. "He should also be obeyed if you don't want a keelhauling. Rule two, there must always be someone in the crows nest. If I should find it empty at _any_ time of the day or night, there will be hell to pay. Rule three, everyone, apart from those who need to be above deck, will be asleep by nine pm," Sheridan finished with a clap of his hands. "Now, we start work immediately. You will each come forward to be resigned to a post. Form a line."

No one argued with his orders – Sheridan was that sort of a man. Merlin found himself wedged between to chesty men who were at least a foot taller than him.

The line began to move forward as each man was given a task. Some asked questions while others actually looked _pleased_ to be there.

"Name?" Sheridan asked as Merlin was shoved forward.

Merlin stared fearfully at him, taking a deep breath.

"Merlin."

Sheridan looked up with mild interest.

"Ah, yes – _you_," he spat, looking the servant up and down with a gaze that Merlin felt sure could see right through him. "But you got your name wrong. Are you going to answer he correctly or am I going to have to dish out punishments already?"

"My name is Mer –" the young wizard repeated, but Sheridan cut in.

"From now on, you shall be known as Runt, cause that's what you are. I never supported the idea of bringing a…_whelp_ into this establishment, but it seems I don't entirely run things around here. You're lucky, you know," he hissed, leaning closer to Merlin who watched him warily. "If I had my way, I'd have killed you the moment I set eyes of you. It would have done the world a favour. Now," he snapped out of his unwavering scrutiny, "you're nothing but skin and bones so…we'll have to put some weight on you. You can be scullery boy and all round job do-er. That means you get the most work," he said curtly with a small flick of his quill to tick off the position.

Merlin was grabbed by a nearby sailor, but shook himself free angrily.

"Well, I won't be here for long!" he snarled into Sheridan's face. "I've got a friend – the prince of Camelot! He'll come for me. I hope you have a replacement…"

Sheridan looked up with that mild interest again.

"What's this?" he asked in a honeyed tone. "Impudence? Talking back? We can't have that. TWENTY LASHES!"

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**I hope you like Arthur in this chapter - I've tried to make him as adorable as possible! I can just so imagine him wearing Merlin's scarf! :}**


	6. Chapter Five

**Oooooo! Ooooo! OOOOO!!! I KNOW SOMEONE WHO WENT TO THE CASTLE IN FRANCE WHERE THEY FILM MERLIN!!! *fumes* SO JEALOUS!!! :(**

**Ah, well...I'll just have to save my pennies and go myself one day. ^^**

**ANYWAY, back to the fic...**

**WARNING: This contains a nice Uther, REPEAT, NICE Uther. O.O**

**Well, sort of nice...**

**Thanks goes to Sannepan, MerlinStar, lttlebrat93, enigma-kar, CrayonsPink, Loopstagirl, BiggestMerlinFanAlive, Scribbles111, Tonzura123, Isis the Sphinx, and darkwolf4 for reviewing! :D**

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Arthur had never been to his father's room before. Never. The door was big, made of wood and strangely imposing. Or maybe it was just his imagination…

_Be professional_, he told himself, _don't go loosing it now_. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped in stiffly, seeing his father behind a desk.

The king's room was set out into a similar style to his own, except there was a long desk with a chair and a huge window with a slightly blue tinge to it. There was a long shelf crammed neatly with books that seemed to belong to the same series, all either maroon red or dark navy, with gold squiggly lettering down the spines. Thick brown furs covered the bed and scarlet curtains hung from the posts, much like Arthur's own.

Self-consciously, the prince took a step forward, and his father looked up, peering at him curiously, wondering why his son was here; he never came to his chambers.

"Arthur?" the king quizzed, forgetting the report in his hand.

"Father," Arthur said while biting his lip.

In a sudden flash, he was reminded vividly of the time when Merlin had died, just after he had opened the cube to save him…his father's pitiless face looming over him with not an ounce of sympathy for the dead friend in his arms…the pain he'd felt…the utter sadness and despair. It all came back to Arthur in an unwelcome jolt of terror…he had a sudden urge to turn and run away, run away from this man before him who was scrutinizing his every move. The prince felt naked in his gaze.

"Arthur," Uther narrowed his eyes with concern, "are you alright?"

Arthur took a deep breath and composed himself invisibly.

"I – err…" he cleared his throat, sweat beading down his forehead. "Yesterday, Merlin and I went down to the lake in the forest. We were ambushed by press-gangers who kidnapped him –"

"Wait," his father held up a hand and Arthur's heart jumped with fear, "I thought that servant of yours died."

Arthur was about to explain, when he suddenly realized that the truth wasn't going to help in this situation. It was too…magical. People didn't come back to life, yet Merlin was living proof. Arthur was more than happy to let this slip, but he knew his father would see it differently. He would have to lie.

"He did not die, I was mistaken. He was merely ill, and Gaius cured him," the prince said, his heart beginning to burn with worry, like a pressing deep inside his chest. Uther looked a little sceptical for a moment but he motioned for Arthur to go on. "He was kidnapped by press-gangers who, I think, plan to take him to work on a ship. I…" Arthur took yet another deep breath, "…I have come to ask your permission to find him and bring him back to Camelot."

Uther looked at him for a moment, thinking. He was remembering his son on the day he thought his servant had died. He had been miserable, almost dead himself with grief. The king thought this a little peculiar. Why was Arthur so caring for a _servant_?

Uther also remembered the moment he had discovered Arthur's mysterious illness that had been the doing of the cube. That servant – Merlin – had looked after him so much beyond the call of duty – yet another display of loyalty the boy had shown his son.

The king ran his gaze up and down Arthur for a moment, missing the struggled breath and fervour in his son's eyes. He did notice a new addition to the prince's attire, however. A red scarf, tucked half into his shirt but still visible. Uther found it strangely familiar. The recognition of the item suddenly popped into his head.

It was clear Arthur felt strongly about this.

Uther began to see the prince's subtle expressions that betrayed his feelings. His slightly clenched fists, the sweat on his brow and the ever so small shifting of weight on his feet.

"Very well," the king said. He was surprised by Arthur's obvious blanching at his agreement but went on, "I give you permission to find him, but I cannot spare you any knights. You shall have to go without an escort."

Arthur tried not to stop his mouth from hanging open, and only just succeeded. The king looked on, waiting patiently for his son to speak.

"I…" Arthur mumbled, then raised his voice. "Thank you."

Uther nodded, keeping the worry for his son behind his grey eyes.

"Be careful," he said.

"Yes, father," Arthur replied with a small bow.

"But you do realize, son," Uther went on unexpectedly, "that he may already be dead."

Arthur made very sure to show no emotion after his father finished speaking, but the truth was that a storm of feelings was raging around inside him as his father fixed him with his solid gaze. Unable to stand being stared at any more, the prince quickly left, shutting the door slowly behind him.

* * *

Grime covered the saucepans of the ships kitchens. Merlin had rubbed a pan a little with a rag he had found, and he could now see his reflection in the steel. His back was striped with long, scarlet gashes from the twenty lashes he'd received. It was so painful that the sting hadn't quite set in yet, but Merlin was reminded of the bite of the whip as he pulled his shirt back over his head. Maybe it was best just not to wear it.

After peeling the shirt of his bloody back again, Merlin took the rag he'd found again, and dipped it in water before dabbing the wounds that littered his shoulders. It smarted horribly, but he had to get it clean. Though, having said that, the water in the bucket was anything but sterile, with lumps, specks and goodness knew what else in it.

He quickly dropped the rag and retook his position on the floor, peeling potatoes with a rusty knife, as the door suddenly swung open on its creaky hinges. One of the press-gangers stepped in.

"The list," he said shortly, tossing a scroll at Merlin. "Sheridan wants it all done…by tonight."

Merlin unfurled the scroll and began to read, becoming increasingly worried. It read…

_Jobs For The Runt_

_1. Swab the deck until faces can be seen in it._

_2. Boil the potatoes for lunch. (Enough to feed the entire crew.)_

_3. Cook a stew for supper. (Enough to feed the entire crew.)_

_4. Check the rigging._

_5. Mop the lower deck and upper deck._

_6. Polish the doorknobs. _

_7. Set up the extra hammocks. _

_8. Laundry duty. _

_9. Clean the toilets. _

_10. Run errands for the first mate._

_11. Peel more potatoes._

_12. Wash the flag._

_13. Crow's-nest duty._

Merlin looked up with horror. How was he supposed to do all this by the end of the day when that was only a matter of hours from now? The press-ganger had already left, however, so he wasn't going to find any help there.

Looking back at the list, Merlin decided if he was to get all the chores done in time he had better get a move on. He grabbed the knife by the sack of potatoes and set to work on the vegetables, cutting off both the long roots that had grown on them in the damp, and the mouldy skins.

Cutting his fingers a few times, Merlin often got a little blood on the potatoes, but he left it there, hoping no one would notice – he was too preoccupied with running the currant situation over in his mind, turning it around and around. Would Arthur come to find him? Did the prince know where he was? Where was he now? Did he even _care_?

Merlin decided not to dwell on thoughts of Arthur, so pushed on with the potatoes and soon had them finished. Taking another look at the list, he grabbed a nearby brush and bucket of water to go swab the deck when he realized he had no idea what to do. He wasn't a sailor; he didn't know how to maintain a ship. Perhaps it was just best to try his hardest – maybe that would get him out of any trouble he would probably land himself in if he did nothing.

Having made up his mind, Merlin made his way above deck where dozens of men were milling around, doing various jobs. Looking about, the young warlock found the coast had long since disappeared and had been replaced by a hazy blue horizon. There wasn't much else to see other than choppy water. The ship itself was far more interesting, with three tall mast, vast white sails hanging from them, flapping slightly in the wind. On the far side of the vessel was a higher deck with the wheel, a tall gangly man standing behind it, turning it ever so often.

Thankfully, there was no sign of Sheridan, so Merlin quietly set the bucket down on the floor, trying not to attract unwanted attention, and began to rub the swabbing brush over the wood, finding it to be covered in a salty, tar-like substance.

"Put yer back into it, Runt!" someone said behind him, laughing nastily as he kicked the bucket over, sending the water all over the deck and Merlin.

Merlin gritted his teeth, stood the bucket up again with supreme calmness, and continued brushing. Slightly disgruntled by the young wizards lack of response, the man sauntered away again. Merlin glared at his back angrily as he retreated.

Thinking he had himself to himself once more, Merlin didn't notice Sheridan emerging from below deck and spot him with a definite hint of morbid glee…

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**I was gonna post this chapter yesterday, but FF.N was all weird and wouldn't let me...I was freaking out, I tell you! **

**DONATE TO THE REVIEW FUND! **


	7. Chapter Six

**Author's Note: No Merlin-bashing in this chapter unfortunately, but I'll make up for it in the next!**

**Thanks goes to Viridus Lupus, Sannepan, RandomCheesecake, bcargill9, MerlinStar, Isis the Sphinx, wobbles11, enigma-kar and lttlbrat93 for reviewing! :D Thank you so much! **

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Arthur found that the area of his forehead that had been hit was giving him more grief than he'd expected it to. He had to ignore it, however – Merlin was more important.

He had packed everything he needed without letting his bag get too heavy. Running over the list of items in his head, he realized with a scary jolt that he'd forgotten his _sword_. Maybe this injury to his head was worse than he thought…

As he quickly grabbed his scabbard, there was a quiet knock on the door. He turned to see Morgana letting herself in, a surprisingly grave look on her face.

"Uther told me about what happened," she said, gliding over and standing by the edge of the table that had Arthur's luggage spread over it. "What are you going to do?"

"Rescue him of course," the prince replied flatly as though that were obvious.

"Have you even rested? You look dreadful…" Morgana observed.

"I don't have time to rest," Arthur said, sliding his sword into its scabbard and fixing it to his belt, remembering a fond memory of Merlin's first day as his manservant and how useless he'd been.

He sighed.

"Arthur," Morgana chastised with a quirk of her eyebrow, "you need to rest or you'll be no good to anyone!" she gently led him to a chair where he sat down, before realizing she was trying to stop him from finding Merlin.

"I have to go!" the prince announced in a state of frenzy. He kept trying to get up but Morgana kept him down. "You don't understand! He needs me! I'm the only one who can save him!" Arthur was finding it hard to breath. His head was killing him, but thoughts of his life in the future without _Merlin_ were a good reason to keep fighting.

"I know that, but if you want to find him, you must rest!" Morgana reasoned.

"I can't, Morgana. I just can't. He trusts me! He's waiting for me. I promised I wouldn't let anything happen to him!" Arthur said earnestly, "Are you going to let me go, or do I have to call for the guards?"

"Arthur, do I have to remind you I'm a better fighter than your guards?" Morgana tried to sound whimsical, but looking at Arthur's expression didn't make it easy. "Okay, you win," she said, knowing only too well that if Arthur wanted to do something, there was nothing in the world capable of stop him, "but you have to rest at least one hour…and please, go and see Gaius. Your head's bleeding…"

"And then I can leave?"

"And then you can leave," Morgana sighed.

She watched him carefully as he finished packing his bag; detecting his tense posture, tightly clench fists and the grim determination in his eyes.

"I always knew you cared about him."

He spun around, and was about to profoundly deny her statement, when he stopped himself.

"Yes, maybe I do," he said, abandoning his pack. Morgana raised an amused eyebrow. "Oh, shut up, Morgana."

"I didn't say anything!" Morgana laughed indignantly, smiling.

Again the prince was reminded of Merlin. He'd said that exact same thing to him once before. The neckerchief around his neck seemed to become a whole lot heavier and he found himself releasing a long breath and looking at the floor.

Morgana hadn't noticed, she was already leavening. Just before she disappeared through the door, she motioned towards the bed, clearly wanting him to keep his promise and get some rest.

Arthur knew he should go and see Gaius, like Morgana had suggested, but he couldn't face speaking to the old physician when he knew he and Merlin were close. The prince didn't want to get him worried, so instead, he took Morgana's advice and lay down on his bed to get a few hours sleep.

He prayed that those damned dreams didn't make an appearance as they often did. They liked to play on his fears…

When would they leave? Of course, they weren't nearly as bad as before, when the cube had full control over him, but still they persisted…

Different scenarios of Merlin's death flashed before him in his shaking and disturbed dreams, scaring him badly. Merlin thrown off the ship. Merlin stabbed by a drunk sailor. Merlin starving to death. It was all too much. The prince couldn't sleep any longer and he woke up, a long shiver running down his spine.

His heart beating far too fast, Arthur climbed out of bed, rubbing his sweaty face, and got dressed.

As he pulled his rucksack onto his shoulders, he went over his plan in his head. The first thing to do was to get to Brinkwell and discover as much information as possible about The Emrys and its destination. Then, hire a vessel to pursue the ship. Arthur's thoughts didn't really reach beyond that, other than find Merlin and bring him back to Camelot safe and sound.

It was getting towards noon as Arthur snuck out of his room and hurried through the castle, heading for the stables.

* * *

Arthur did not remember the journey to the lake taking too long. Maybe it was just because he was anxious to get there and start looking for clues. Utter silence was the only thing that could be heard as he approached the water's edge. He couldn't stop thinking about his friend, Merlin's eyes just before he had been knocked out, full of trust, having faith in the prince to save him. It was true; in Arthur's mind there was only space for Merlin, rescuing Merlin. What if he couldn't save him? He was a warrior; he should have seen it coming, the attack, those men.

"I'm so sorry," Arthur whispered to the glassy water, not noticing he was talking out loud.

Then the memories arrived into his mind, one by one, every moment, every joke, every smile on his friend's face.

It had started as a beautiful morning, the sun bright in the sky. With nothing to do in the castle and all the prey taking shelter from the heat, Arthur had decided to go for a swim and, to his friend surprise, had invited Merlin. When they arrived at the lake after the race, there were only a few birds in the trees and nothing else, only a peaceful morning.

"Hey, why don't we go up that tree and dive into the water, huh?" he had suggested whilst analysing the said tree.

"What?" Merlin had spluttered. "Are you out of your mind? It's too high," he had said it, knowing full well that Arthur was going up the tree regardless.

"Yeah, sure, but that's the fun part."

"If something happens to you, Uther'll kill me!"

"Oh, come on, you spoil sport," Arthur laughed. "Live a little," he gave Merlin the most mischievous grin ever expressed by a human.

Arthur threw off his clothes and Merlin had only begun squirming on the spot as he proceeded to climb the tree.

"What? Don't tell me you're embarrassed about being naked in front of me!" Arthur chuckled, not bothering to look back down at the flushed Merlin.

"No…" Merlin began awkwardly. "Its just, I'm not used to things like this."

He'd never been out with friends before, not _really_. He and Will had gone gallivanting around in the village at times (earning themselves the nickname of 'the terrible two' in the process), but it wasn't the same – well, at least not in Merlin's opinion.

Arthur said nothing, and continued to shinny up the tree.

"Arthur, please, this could be dangerous," Merlin tried again, but his friend didn't listen and threw himself into the water from a ridiculous height. Merlin ran to the edge of the lake and peered in, but nothing happened. Arthur didn't appear.

"Arthur?" Merlin received no response. "Arthur, come on, this isn't funny any more."

The young warlock counted to ten, but the water was still quiet and unmoved. He decided to go into the lake and look for the prince. The water was cold. Merlin didn't like it. He felt something under the water, something brushing past his leg. Turning around, he did not see anything.

"Arthur?" he squeaked hopefully.

Again, something passing close next to him, and suddenly, that something was pulling him down. He felt the water inside his mouth. He tried to yell, but he couldn't. But then, in a flash and a gasp for air, he could see the sky again.

Arthur began to laugh.

"I'm going to kill you," Merlin growled.

"I'm the prince remember? You can't do such a thing," Arthur replied snobbishly.

"I could have drowned!" Merlin seethed, though seeing the funny side and beginning to pull off his own clothes, throwing them onto the bank to dry.

"Calm down, I just wanted to have a bit of fun," Arthur raised an apologetic hand of truce and grinned. "Nice underwear by the way."

Merlin, of course, trying to regain some integrity, had attempted to catch him but Arthur was too good a swimmer.

Time went by and the morning had become midday. They dragged themselves from the lake, laughing like maniacs, and had eaten something before sprawling on a rock to let the sun to dry their bodies.

This put a smile of the prince's face, regardless of the dismal situation. He wiped it off quickly, however, and instead concentrated on finding anything to help him in his search before he rode to Brinkwell. But if there were any clues, none were brought to his attention, so when he left the lake, he had no more information on Merlin's whereabouts other that the two words stuck fast in his mind: Brinkwell and Emrys.

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**Has anyone seen the "Fit For a King - Behind the Scenes" thing for Merlin? It's hilarious! :D**

**Went a little like this...**

**Bradley: *eating lunch***

**Colin: *has camera* Hey, what you doing there, Bradley?**

**Bradley: Oh, just eating lunch by my self.**

**Colin: Yeah, you're pretty alone here, aren't you... *points camera at empty chair***

**Bradley: Yeah, well - I like my own space... *trails off, stares at opposite chair***

**Adrian Lester: *sitting there***

**Colin: Whoa, how'd he get there so fast?**

**Bradley: *stares***

**Adrian Lester: *stares***

**People-at-home: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!**

**Sorry, I just find them amusing... XD**

**Next chapter up soon!**


	8. Chapter Seven

**Yay! The next chapter is up! Sorry it took so long to get it out, but there was a very unfortunate and somewhat mysterious power cut where I live...**

**Anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter! I might just warn you, however, that you will be feeling murderous towards Sheridan by the end of it. He is so very fond of Merlin-bashing. Or is that Runt-bashing...?**

**Thanks goes to enigma-kar, wobbles11, lttlbrat93, Loopstagirl, MerlinStar, Viridus Lupus, bcargill9, RandomCheesecake, Isis the Sphinx, Krox1, and CrayonsPink for reviewing! Thank you so much! ^^**

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It was all Merlin could do not to yelp with pain each time he stretched out to scrub the deck. The long, raw gashes all down his back were stinging awfully, and with every scrub, Merlin could feel each and every stripe of ripped flesh as though the dreaded whip was tearing away at his delicate skin right there and then.

Sheridan, who was waiting eagerly behind him, pounced on his opportunity as Merlin let out a little squeak of agony.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" he sneered down at Merlin having sidled round him. "Not that I'd know of course. I've never had twenty lashes."

"Aren't you the little angel?" Merlin muttered under his breath, carrying on with swabbing the deck, determined not to let the man get to him.

"Not talking back again, are you, Runt?"

Merlin bristled angrily and his fists clenched.

"My – name – is – _Merlin_."

"Not if I say it isn't, Runt," Sheridan replied, causing Merlin's brush to fall to the floor in anger. With serene calmness, the young warlock picked it up again as Sheridan went on, "I'm in command of all you low-life's. If I say jump, you ask how high. Savvy?"

Merlin stood up, brush and bucket in hand, his knuckles white on the handle, and threw the man a sideways glance of deepest loathing.

"No," he hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes smouldering pits of azure blue.

"Well, then, it looks like I'm gonna have to teach you," Sheridan bent forward, smirking. "Jump."

Merlin wanted to hit him. _Really_ wanted to hit him. But instead, he walked away and set his bucket and brush down before beginning to scrub the decks again.

"No, no, no!" Sheridan drawled, swaggering over. "You're still not getting it," he grabbed the scruff of Merlin's shirt and pulled him to his feet. "JUMP!"

When Merlin did nothing other than glare at him with savage defiance, the young wizard suddenly found himself smacked hard across the face. Wiping his bleeding lip with the back of his hand, Merlin picked himself up and quickly regained his posture.

"Jump," Sheridan snarled again.

"How high?" Merlin asked, grinding his teeth together.

"Pardon?" Sheridan cupped a hand to his ear.

"How high, _sir_?" Merlin repeated, feeling his eyes begin to prickles with the sensation he had when about to use his magic. He fought the overwhelming urge to burn the man before him into ash, and instead let his tensed shoulders drop and took a deep, calming breath.

"Hey up, lads!" Sheridan called, turning to the crew behind him who were either half-heartedly milling around, watching Sheridan and the scullery boy, or had stopped altogether, staring intently. "The runt is gonna put on a show for us!"

As though told Christmas had come early, everyone surged forward, gathering into an eagerly awaiting crowd.

"Right, Runt," Sheridan said, turning back to face Merlin. "I want you to jump one foot."

Merlin stared at the crowd that had accumulated around him in a tight circle, Sheridan standing at the head of them with his arms folded and a sneer on his face. The young warlock's skin began to burn with embarrassment and shame. It would be humiliating but he could live it down, and besides, Merlin did _not_ want another twenty lashes, so he jumped.

Everyone cheered and erupted into bursts of clapping, mocking him. Merlin felt his ears go red.

"Very good!" Sheridan sniggered. "Now jump two feet."

Merlin jumped two feet.

"Three feet."

With a little difficulty, Merlin jumped three feet.

"Four!"

The crowd was in fits of laughter at this point, most of them doubled over and clutching their stomachs. Merlin couldn't see what they found so funny. One of them clapped him heartily on the back, sending him to his knees. He quickly climbed to his feet before Sheridan had time to ridicule him further, and shot the sailor a death glare.

Sheridan began tapping his foot, waiting for the fourth jump.

Restraining himself from tearing someone's throat out, Merlin gathered what was left of his integrity and jumped once more. Again, everyone burst into laughter, except Sheridan who looked thoughtful.

"Whoa, hang on, lads," he said, raising a hand for silence, which he got immediately without question. "I don't think that was four feet. What do you say, Toms?" he turned to a ginger haired man on his left.

"Now you come to mention it, yeah, that wasn't four feet," Toms replied, also staring at Merlin analytically.

"Why didn't you jump four feet, Runt?" Sheridan addressed Merlin with mock incredulity.

"I did my best –" Merlin began.

"You know what I think?" Sheridan went on, totally ignoring him. "I think you're being disobedient. But I'm a giving man. I'll let you try again. Go on, _jump_."

Merlin stared warily around him again. He just wanted to be left alone. Why did they find this funny? Arthur might not be the perfect man to work for but he would _never_ do something like this. Merlin caught himself wishing the prince were here, with him. But he wasn't. Nobody was going to fight his battles for him. He had no choice but to just jump and get it over with. Maybe then they'd all go away and leave him in peace…

Merlin jumped again.

"Nope, that definitely wasn't four feet," Toms said, shaking his head.

"So, you think you can get away with disobeying me, do you, boy?" Sheridan stepped towards Merlin who backed away until he hit the ships guardrail. If he went any further, he would fall into the sea. The crowd began to close in.

"I don't tolerate disobedience on this ship," Sheridan continued, now inches away from Merlin.

"I tried but four feet's too high –" Merlin attempted to explain, leaning as far away as he could from the man.

"You keep your mouth shut, boy! You've disobeyed me and now you have to pay the price," there was no hint of amusement in Sheridan's eyes now as he motioned to the men behind him. "C'mon, boys. Make the runt pay."

Before he had time to react, Merlin felt a huge fist impact with his stomach. Coughing up blood, he looked at Sheridan, begging him with his eyes, as he was grabbed by both arms and pulled off his feet.

"Carry on below deck," Sheridan ordered, utterly ignoring Merlin's silent plea. "We don't want the captain getting a look in."

Merlin just had time to wonder who the captain was, before he was hauled away, his legs dragging on the floor and the crowd still jeering at him.

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As Arthur neared Brinkwell, and the small seaside town came into view from over the hill, the prince stopped his horse for a moment. Taking a deep breath while scrutinizing the dock for any ship by the name of Emrys, he was sorely disappointed when he found the only ships tied to the pier were a beaten up old dingy and small boat with a single mast – both far too small to be called a ship.

If The Emrys had already left, which it apparently had, things were going to be just that little bit harder for the prince. But there was always plan B. So, spurring his horse on again, Arthur soon found himself in the midst of the town.

The houses were mostly white and with long washing lines strung between them, all types of clothing hanging from them, flapping slightly in the breeze. Other houses had huge fishing nets suspended from the windows or carpets being beaten viciously with long sticks.

The stable boy's face was hidden in shadow in the fast diminishing light, as Arthur dismounted his horse and handed the kid the reins and a few coins. Reckoning it to be around five or six in the evening and not wanting to waste time, he made his way out of the stables.

He should probably start asking around for the whereabouts of the ship or any other information he could acquire, he decided, so walked out into the bustling crowd. Barely having room to move in the tightly packed stampede of people, Arthur tried to stop someone and ask about the ship.

"Excuse me, do you know anything about –?" he was cut off by a severe shaking of the head, and the man scurried away.

Muttering 'idiot' under his breath, Arthur shouldered his way through the crowd and stopped another person.

"Do you –?" this time he was halted even quicker and the girl disappeared into the river of heads again.

Several negative fishermen later, Arthur felt ready to shout at someone, hold him or her at sword point and demand to know where The Emrys was. Instead, he only found himself jostling along with the crowd and pushed towards the edge of the herd of people, where he found himself in front of a tavern…

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**Hehehehe, I can just so see Arthur getting very frustrated with the lack of information, while being buffeted and jostled by some fishy-smelling people! ^^ **

**Hope you liked it! Chapter eight out soon!**


	9. Chapter Eight

**Squeee! Who saw Merlin: episode four last night? IT WAS SO AMAZING!!!**

**Merlin: Egh! I just stood on something!**

**Arthur: Yeah, it was my foot.**

**HAHAHAHAHA!!! Oh, I love those two.**

**Anyway, getting a little sidetracked here, so back to the update! Firstly, I hope you like my newest OC here, who goes by the name of George. ^^ Oh, and no Merlin in this chapter, but once again that will be made up for in the next! **

**Thanks goes to Loopstagirl, Isis the Sphinx, Lttlbrat93, CrayonsPink, Dianne, Viridus Lupus** (yes, I do like Michael McIntyre, and I believe Bradley does too, cause I saw a youtube clip and he was there, in the theatre!), **MerlinStar, bcargill9, RandomCheesecake** (the next we hear of Brun is in chapter 20 I think...) **and enigma-kar for reviewing! ^^**

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The Wanton Wyvern was painted in flaky lettering above the door. Arthur stared at it dubiously. A clearly drunk man ambled slowly out of the door, supporting his fellow who was gurgling some misshapen song or other, and veered dangerously towards the prince, swaying precariously on his feet. Arthur dodged smartly out the way. The man leered at him before sluggishly merging with the sea of people and vanishing.

Pulling a disgusted face, Arthur turned back to the tavern. Wondering if someone in there might be able to help him, he stepped through the doors.

He was immediately hit by an intoxicating stench of alcohol and smoke. Dozens of men sat all around the grimy tables, either smoking from long pipes or taking sips of ale from the flagons in their hands that left them with a thin line of foam on their lip.

Not wishing to mix with them unless necessary, Arthur cautiously picked his way through the throng towards the bar.

There was no one behind the counter, and after a minute or so of nobody appearing, Arthur became frustrated and rapped his knuckles hard on the wood. Suddenly, a wrinkly head leapt up.

"Ah," he said as he produced a pipe from the inside of his jacket, popped it in his mouth and lit it before beginning to puff away. "I'm George, young sir. What's your poison?"

"I wasn't planning on staying," Arthur said, watching as a man sitting on one of the seats by the bar toppled over after having belched loudly. "I was just wondering if anyone could tell me about a ship that was here a while ago."

"Go on," George said, resuming his smoking, sticking the pipe into his mouth and causing more billowing clouds of grey fog to fill the air.

Coughing and spluttering, Arthur waved the mist away. After a great deal of flapping, he could actually see the bartended again and, trying his best to ignore the toxic fumes from the pipe, he continued.

"My friend was press-ganged and taken away to work on a ship called The Emrys," Arthur had to shout now because a small row had erupted in the back of the tavern. "Do you know where it was headed?"

"Pardon?" the bartended seemed not to have heard and leaned his ear towards Arthur.

"The Emrys," the prince repeated, "where was it heading?"

"What was that? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" George put a hand to his ear and squinted his eyes, trying to listen.

"DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THE EMRYS?" Arthur bellowed into his ear, feeling his temper kindled.

"Ah, yes, The Emrys," the man said, sucking thoughtfully on his pipe. "Beautiful ship t'was. You know what I heard?" he leant forward again and beckoned Arthur towards him, as if about to divulge in a great secret. "I heard they were press-ganging again to get members for the crew."

"Yes, yes!" Arthur began to grow hopeful. "My friend was taken. Where did the ship go?"

The man was clearly trying to recall a long and forgotten memory as he finally removed that awful pipe from his mouth and tapped it on his chin. Arthur bit his lip and waited impatiently, rocking slightly on his heels.

"THE MOUNTAINS OF BERWYN!" George suddenly yelled, scaring Arthur to death.

"What?"

"The mountains of Berwyn," the bartended repeated. "Its where the Emrys was heading."

"Are you sure?" excitement began to rise in Arthur's heart.

"Absolutely," the man looked quite pleased with himself.

"Where is it?" Arthur asked, leaning his head in on a hand as George vanished under the counter again and reappeared, holding a map.

"These are the mountains, right here," he said, spreading the map out for Arthur to see. "Odd place though, if you ask me. Legend has it, that there's a great deal of magic surrounding that place. And I wouldn't argue with it if I were you," he shuddered. "Really odd place, that."

Wondering why the ship would be heading there, Arthur turned the map around and looked at it carefully for a moment. If it was indeed a magical place, then Merlin could be in danger…

What if he didn't get there in time? What if he was too late? What if Merlin died some unnatural death? What if –?

"So, you want a drink or what?" George dragged him away from his frantic thoughts while rubbing a mug with a grimy rag.

Arthur stared at him with wild, terrified eyes before realizing he had only asked if he wanted a drink, and quickly calmed himself down.

"I…err…no," he muttered, feeling flustered. "Can I have this?" he gestured at the map.

The man nodded so Arthur folded it up again and stuffed it into his jacket. Deciding it was time to leave (and especially now yet another drunkard was staggering his way), Arthur quickly beat a hasty retreat and soon found himself out side the stifling pub one again.

He was going to have to hire a ship if he was to pursue The Emrys, so he joined the bustling crowd again, and muscled his way to the centre where he was driven along like a twig in a vast stream. After some time, he was brought to a boat hiring shop, but all that was outside it were rowing boats. Arthur had no intentions of braving the sea in one of _them_, so he moved on. But it seemed that either no one had the type of ship he wanted or if they did, wouldn't lend him their services, so he was left rather forlorn by the edge of the crowd, sitting amongst a few barrels.

What good was he, the prince wondered, if he couldn't even hire a boat? Merlin was depending on _him_ for rescue; he was _trusting _in the prince to find him. Arthur couldn't let him down, yet there he was, almost ready to give up hope. He felt useless and utterly wretched just sitting there, staring at the passers by of which there were many.

Too busy wallowing in self-pity and concern for his friend, Arthur didn't notice the parrot land on a crate behind him and begin to preen its scarlet feathers.

"I HATE MORNINGS! I HATE MORNINGS!"

The prince fell of his barrel in surprise.

"Oh, sorry, sir," a young, sandy haired boy apologized, popping out from nowhere and grabbing his parrot. "Wait…" he peered closer at Arthur, "aren't you that prince?"

With a jolt, Arthur recognized the boy as Kaelan – one of the party of three who had taken on board himself and Merlin after they had resurfaced from the ancient temple all those weeks ago.

"Hey, Mum, Dad! Its Arthur!" Kaelan yelled over his shoulder.

John and Matilda, both as big and round as ever, pushed their way through the crowd. Matilda was swinging a basket full of chickens and John was covered in every type of hat imaginable. Arthur decided not to ask why.

"Aah," John cried, leaping towards the prince and pumping his arm up and down, the hats shaking violently, "how are you? What are you doing in these parts?"

Arthur nursed his throbbing hand as John finally released it. Before he went on to explain, he had to take a deep breath. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was mentioning his friend, the friend he may never see again.

"You remember Merlin?" he asked quietly. Everyone nodded his or her heads, all grinning and oblivious. "He was…he was kidnapped by press-gangers. I'm going to find him."

The grins slid off everyone's faces. Even Goldrush the parrot let out a gloomy squeak.

"I'm so sorry to hear that…" Matilda came forward and, being the gentle soul she was, wrapped an arm around Arthur's shoulder. "Where was he taken?"

"The Emrys. It's taking him to the mountains of Berwyn," Arthur informed her, feeling slightly shy. "I'm trying to hire a ship, but no one will take me…"

"Well," John said thoughtfully, "you can always come with us. We've just come in for supplies and we'll be off tomorrow. Why don't you tag along?"

"Really?" Arthur looked up with both hope and surprise.

"Yeah, why not?" John said, having to grab a hat as the wind blew it off. "We were just heading back now. You coming?"

"Yes! Yes! Uhh…I mean, thank you," Arthur said, grabbing his rucksack and beginning to follow the three as they set off down the street.

The prince could barely believe his luck!

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**I simply cannot wait to post the next chapter, cause its personally one of my favourites! ^^ Loads of angst...Merlin-bashing...a very contemplative Arthur...strange OCs...a mysterious bad guy... Wait, did I just give you spoilers? :0**


	10. Chapter Nine

**Well, here it is! I hope you all enjoy it! :D**

**Thanks goes to Viridus Lupus, Loopstagirl, MerlinStar, Dianne, RandomCheesecake, bcargill9, Isis the Sphinx, CrayonsPink, wobbles11, enigma-kar, lttlbrat93, and newcomers Poemwriter98, Altaira and Krox1 for reviewing! Thank you all so so so much! Getting warm fuzzy feelings over here... :]**

**Note: A very dark chapter this one...muhahahaha... **

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As he leant his back further into the crow's-nest basket, Merlin found himself to be trembling, shaking almost uncontrollably. He wasn't sure whether it was from cold, utter shock or that frightening trauma that was eating away at him.

They had beaten him.

It was such an inhuman act of cruelty that it was surreal. He felt as though he was in a dream and all this was happening to someone else. That someone else had almost abandoned hope, hope of rescue. How would Arthur find him? How would he know where to look?

Once again, Merlin caught himself wondering if the prince even cared.

The young warlock shuffled a bit and hugged his knees tighter to his chest, resting his chin on them, trying not to linger on that thought.

Thin streams of cold air escaped into the crow's-nest through the gaps in the basket, blowing onto his tired face like tiny pricks of ice. It caused him to shiver harder, but it made a welcome change to the humidity and smoke of the kitchens where, even though he had been bruised and broken, they'd forced him to cook supper.

There was a long table in the hull of the ship at which the crew dined. When he had dished the stew out into the grimy plates before each man, he'd had to block out all the jibbing, sniping comments that they had hurled at him, regarding his uselessness. They thought him weak for not being able to defend himself when they'd beaten him. It had been a dozen to one. Merlin never stood a chance.

The young warlock hadn't looked at himself yet, but he was fully aware of a vast purple-ish, black bruise already forming on his right shoulder blade. Even the hole in his forearm was aching again where a sailor had seized and shaken him.

He lifted his head as a dark figure appeared over the side of the basket. Merlin eyes were lifeless and unseeing as he climbed stiffly to his feet and let the sailor take his place.

Glad that his crow's-nest shift was over, the young warlock pulled himself onto the long rope ladder and began to descend it. He strongly decided that he wasn't fond of heights as a salty breeze made the rigging sway precariously, causing his heart to skip a beat. Praying for a safe return to the deck, Merlin eventually found himself on sturdier ground and breathed a silent sigh of relief.

For some reason – he didn't know why – he raised his eyes to the sky where stars littered the great black expanse, twinkling merrily.

He envied them.

They had such free lives, only charged with one task of watching the earth. The whole universe belonged to them.

Merlin looked for a moment longer, before shaking his thoughts from his head and making his way down the stairs to the lower deck.

Snoring sailors inhabited every hammock, which were resided between the hefty wooden pillars holding up the ceiling. They swung gently back and forth with the tilt of the ship as Merlin silently made his way down the centre isle, desperate not to attract any more unwanted attention.

Presently, he came across an empty one. He looked at it warily as though eyeing a dangerous animal that could attack at any moment. He'd never slept in a hammock before and the idea didn't really appeal to him. It must, however, be a great deal better than the floor, so gingerly he clambered into it.

After a tense few seconds of the hammock rocking ferociously, it finally calmed and he tentatively lay down. It smelt weird – like fossilized socks – and Merlin wrinkled his nose in contempt. But it had to be better than nothing, he decided, so he soon found his eyelids beginning to drop sleepily.

There was a strange sensation of someone breathing on his face and, thinking it was only a breeze from an open porthole, he turned his head away from it.

Yet it persisted…

It was becoming annoying now and even though he was exhausted and could barely move, the young warlock opened his eyes to discover the source of the breathing. He was met by a grisly sight of Sheridan's face inches from his own, breathing all over him. Merlin was quite certain his heart stopped for a moment and he let out a small squeak of fright.

"YOU'RE IN _MY_ HAMMOCK!!!"

Sheridan yelled it so loudly, that it caused Merlin to fall right out of the hammock and land on the floor with a thud. Putting a hand on the hammock to steady it, Sheridan prowled around the column and advanced on the helpless boy, his eyes harbouring a certain fury.

"Have you got some kind of _death_ _wish_?" he asked, towering over Merlin who edged away as well as he could, knocking over a small crate. "You shouldn't even be here! We only picked you up because if you wandered any farther you'd have discovered our camp!" he pounced on Merlin who was still sprawled venerably on the floor, and grabbed the front of his shirt. "I always knew you'd be more trouble than your worth, which is _not_ a lot. If I were you, I'd watch my back, boy."

With that, he flung Merlin away into a heap of thick ropes where the young warlock found himself tangled and discarded like an animal. He didn't feel able to crawl out and face the room with _him_ in it, so he eased himself into a crook of the giant ropes and curled into a ball. His teeth began to chatter with the cold but he ignored it, even when his hands started to go numb and goosebumps worked their way all over his skin.

He had never felt so lonely and unloved. It was only his first night in the ship, but it already seemed like years.

One single tear rolled slowly down the side of his cheek.

He couldn't stop them and soon his face was streaming with silent misery. Knowing that if anyone heard him they would have more reasons to insult him, he wiped the tears away. But they were almost immediately replaced again, and he soon found himself sobbing quietly in his little shelter from the world.

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Arthur could have slept that night if he'd wanted to. The problem was he didn't.

Should someone have gone down the stairs into his little room on the boat and asked why he was not asleep at such a late hour, that someone would have left again, disappointed, for the prince would not have told them.

Arthur had a mask. A concealing disguise to hide behind. And that's what he was doing now. Hiding. He was hiding himself away and pushing his mask to the front where it stood tall, proud, hard, indestructible.

But was it?

Behind all this pretence cowered the real Arthur who was too afraid to come out and show the world his real face, for fear of being rejected by those around him. If he was thought weak – by his father especially – then people might question his future role as king. And even though his father was not there with Arthur, even though he was alone, the prince still cringed behind that mask he had created.

Maybe he was just being his own worst enemy. Maybe there was no one to gently take away the mask and help the real prince out. There had been someone once. His name was Merlin. And that was why Arthur had to get him back. Because he saw now. Merlin was the only one who could mould and shape him into a man who would one day become king.

By rescuing Merlin, Arthur was also rescuing the future – both Camelot's and his own.

Shafts of moonlight from the open window slid over his face as he pulled the twisted sheets away from his body and made his way up the stairs to the deck.

The ship – Neptune, as it was called – had not set off yet – that would be tomorrow – so Arthur decided to make the most of his time left on land, and go for a walk.

He had only meant it to be short, and was quite surprised when he found himself in a dark patch of trees he did not recognize. There was a certain gloom surrounding him, one that was almost impenetrable, and he shivered with cold, his breath coming out as a sweeping white mist that drifted away into the sky.

The stars wheeled overhead as he stumbled through the wood, becoming increasingly lost with each step. Soon he was utterly astray. Wherever he turned, the darkness seemed to draw ever closer. The trees appeared to grow over the sky and all around, closing in, clawing at him with long wispy fingers.

He turned quickly as a twig snapped. A thicket rustled. The world began to spin, around and around, making him dizzy.

Fright and panic began to gather in Arthur's mind as he took shelter in a crook of a tree root, trying to escape from the incoming dark that wanted to trap him in its icy depths, never to go free.

A frozen gust of wind blew over his neck, making him shiver. Quaking with fear, the prince shrunk further into his hole, looking around at his surroundings that were darker than ever before.

Someone was coming…

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**Yay! Oh, I did have fun writing that chapter! *evil grins***

**Anyways, I've got some news for those who are fans of my humorous fics. I've started working on a one shot in which Merlin's scarf may become possessed and Arthur may take a liking to round tables...just thought I'd mention it! ^^**

**Next chapter up soon! :}**


	11. Chapter Ten

**Okay, I'm updating this so quickly because I am **_**astounded**_** by the amount of beautiful reviews you're all giving me! :D**

**Oh, and I might just warn you that this chapter contains such immense doses of cannon, it may leave you feeling a little...blown over.**

**Thanks goes to enigma-kar, wobbles11, Krox1, Altaria, lttlbrat93, CrayonsPink, Scribbles111, bcargill93, MerlinStar, RandomCheesecake, Dianne, and Sannepan for all reviewing and totally making my day! ^^ **

**Here's chapter ten - enjoy. **

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It was dark, impossibly dark.

A lone figure emerged from the gloom. It was clad in a long, jet-black, sweeping cloak made of some kind of shimmering silk that covered every aspect of its body. Maybe what was most frightening about this was the fact its face was hidden. Instead there was a murky black pit, full of shadows.

The figure stopped walking towards the prince and stood, silent, with his hands inside the long ghostly sleeves that flowed around him like a cloud of velvety silk. He did not speak.

Arthur did not know why, but something was keeping him silent, also. He only sat, staring with wide, terrified eyes.

For some time the cloaked figure stood there, watching him, before it slowly raised an arm and pointed into the thick darkness wrapped around the trees to its left. Arthur's eyes followed where it was now gazing, but all he saw was danger.

The figure continued to point, its arm straight. It clearly wanted him to go there, but why should he trust this stranger? Arthur, being Arthur, would have demanded the answer to that question, but before he realized it, and with absolutely no power over himself, he began to walk down the path the figure was designating.

Darkness took him. In a matter of seconds, he was enveloped in the gloom and he soon found himself groping around for something, anything, that he could catch hold of to stop him falling.

Judging by the sound of soft footsteps behind him, the figure was following. It stopped when he did, but still did not make a sound.

Eventually, the darkness thinned and a small clearing came into view. In the centre, there stood a stone. It had some kind of lettering on it that seemed to shine faintly with a dim blue light.

In the stone there was a sword, stuck fast and emanating a gentle golden glow. The hilt was also golden, and the blade was long, though half of it could not be seen for it was embedded in the rock.

Captivated by the elegant weapon, Arthur did not notice the shadowy figure glide around him and stand a little way from the stone. Once again it pointed.

Tentatively, he approached the rock, and as he grew closer, he discovered there was a warmth surrounding it. Putting his hand on the hilt, it fitted perfectly into the shape of his palm and sent an electrifying sensation up his arm. It felt so…right.

Gently, he pulled. Without a moments hesitation it slid out of the stone, making a soft ringing noise as the very tip was released. It was balanced in his hand perfectly while he gave it its first swing. He was sure it flashed as he did so, but it was so quick, he couldn't be certain.

The figure drifted silently towards him. He turned to face it as it pulled a long bundle wrapped in scarlet silk out from its cloak and held it in both hands, waiting for him to take it.

Slowly, he put out a hand and pulled away the silk to find a scabbard. He was surprised to see the Pendragon crest engraved on it – a magnificent golden dragon. After taking the scabbard, he slipped the sword inside it, where it made a satisfying click as it fell into place.

"Its name is Excalibur," the figure finally spoke, its voice strong and smooth. "You will need its services before the end."

Arthur watched as it retreated, fading until it was gone altogether. The sword lay heavy in his hand as he looked down at it. He fixed it to his belt before taking one last glance around the deserted clearing and making his way back through the forest to the ship that awaited him.

* * *

After a night of little sleep, The Neptune was cast off and the journey began. Arthur wanted to be of some use, so he asked for a job to keep him occupied. He didn't expect quite the amount he was given…

There was lookout duty – that was pretty simple – and dusting the cabins, but there were more difficult tasks, which involved knowledge of knots…

Take the 'Alpine Butterfly' for example. When John had mentioned it, Arthur had glanced around, expecting to see a butterfly fluttering past. John had laughed heartily, causing Arthur's face to burn with embarrassment.

Kaelan showed him how it was done, and when Arthur finally thought he had perfected it and used it on the rigging, the sail had fallen down, thereby creating more work for the young prince. But after a hectic few minutes – though it had felt like years – the sail was eventually put to rights, and everyone continued with their various chores.

All day, Arthur was pestered by Goldrush the parrot who loved to swoop in from no where and settle abruptly on his shoulder, making him jump and drop whatever he was carrying, which very often was a bucket of fish (Matilda would spend a lot of the day catching and cooking them). After muttering a few curses, the prince begrudgingly gathered up the slimy fishes and replaced them in the basket.

The first day past so quickly, Arthur was shocked to see the sun setting over the horizon, casting a sheet of burnt orange over sea.

He didn't sleep well that night either. It seemed he wasn't cut out for sea life, what with the constant rocking of the ship and all. The parrot that sung like a bunch of drowning cats outside his window every night wasn't helpful either…

Also, he was worried about Merlin. Arthur wasn't an expert but he did have an imagination, and one that often liked to get carried away. His mind would _not_ stop playing out gruesome fantasies over and over again, both scaring and annoying him. He wasn't sure which emotion was worse.

Days turned to weeks in no time at all. That also meant that Merlin had been on his own vessel for the same amount of time.

Was he well treated? Did he get enough to eat? Were people kind to him? Did he have a proper bed? What work did he do? Was he safe?

All these question buzzed continuously around the prince's head. He would often get a sharp telling off now and then for not paying attention, because he had been staring into space, trying to work out the answers, which of course was impossible.

Compared to his friend, however, Arthur may as well be living the life of luxury in a great palace, surrounded by doting servants that waited on him hand and foot.

If the prince had known the conditions Merlin was living under, he would have done anything possible to speed the ship up, even if it meant shouting at the sky to make the wind faster, for Merlin's stay on The Emrys was not pleasant.

* * *

Gruelling, filthy, long and hard were a few of the words that might have described Merlin's chores on the ship. It seemed that Sheridan was intent on keeping to his word and giving him the most work. This, however, did not mean he got any praise for it.

Merlin slaved away above and below deck, preparing meals, moping, dusting, polishing, cleaning and anything else Sheridan could think of. And he was not even given any food for it. But that did not mean he was left to starve. He was given a few crumbs, but it wasn't enough to sustain any person, let alone one who worked all-day and frequently part of the night.

The young warlock did have a plan to sort out this lack of food, however. He was scullery boy, which meant he prepared all the meals for the crew, so he often nibbled a little at each plate of food, but only such an amount so no one would notice, and if they did then just mistake it for loose rats.

What was maybe the most depressing aspect of the work on the ship, was the fact that whenever he finished all the jobs on his list, he was immediately handed another, which involved yet another set of what seemed to be pointless tasks.

Merlin was not sure how he got them all done in time, though sometimes he didn't and Sheridan wouldn't hesitate to take action. Merlin would find himself countless times at the mercy of the whip.

Every night he would crawl into his little pile of ropes to lick his wounds. He'd tried once before to take lodging in a hammock and even though no one inhabited it, he was thrown out regardless and told to sleep on the floor where he belonged.

All this misuse was slowly but surly wearing Merlin away. His ribs began to show, the bruises that covered his body never seemed to disappear, he would repeatedly find himself too thirsty to talk, and he was always tired, which was utterly different from his normal perky and enthusiastic self.

After the first week had past, Merlin had abandoned dreaming of a miraculous rescue and was instead thinking of throwing himself over the side of the ship, preferably before Sheridan did.

But all he wanted, all he _really_ wanted was a bed to sleep in, food to eat and most importantly, people who cared. People like Gaius and Gwen, his mother and Morgana.

But whom did he miss the most? Do I really need to say?

It was Arthur.

* * *

**I would just like to wish Bradley James a very happy birthday (even though it's a day late), so happy birthday, Bradders! We love you! :D**


	12. Chapter Eleven

**_Really _sorry this wasn't up sooner, but FF.N wasn't working for me...  
Oh well, at least it is now! :D**

**Okay, extreme bashing going on in this chapter. Again.  
I know some people prefer the emotional bashing, but I'm afraid all you've got is the physical stuff! :} **

**A massive heap of thanks goes to Sannepan, RandomCheesecake, Altaira, CrayonsPink, Viridus Lupus, lttlbrat93, bcargill9, Scribbles111, enigma-kar, Isis the Sphinx, MerlinStar, and Krox1 for taking the time to send me such lovely reviews! **

* * *

Merlin didn't like the sea. Never had. Never would. He would _never_ get used to living in a ship, and especially not with that…_man_ around him. Sheridan had hated him from the very first moment he had set eyes upon him, and Merlin knew that it would not be long before he took action on his hatred. When that day came, however, the young warlock had not thought it would be so soon.

"What the hell is this filth? How can anybody say this is real meat?" Sheridan snarled one day at the long table below beck. Everybody around the table looked at him, clearly waiting for the fun to begin. "Where's that dammed kid?"

"He's in the kitchen," one of the other men answered, smirking.

Merlin heard them. He wasn't an expert in preparing any kind of meal, but he had done his best. Obviously it hadn't been enough for the prats.

"What's this?" Sheridan demanded as soon as he appeared at the door of the kitchen. "I'm not eating this muck! _What_ is it?"

"Some meat as you requested," Merlin replied, fighting back terror. He had learnt to be frightened of this unpredictable man, not bold.

"No, this isn't meat," the man hurled the plate at Merlin where it collided with his chest, spilling all over the floor. "I don't know where you come from, Runt, but I don't like people who don't respect my orders. I asked you for meat, and I didn't get it."

"I'm sorry, sir," Merlin forced a small bow. "I'll do it again."

He turned around to go back to the kitchens. That was why he didn't see Sheridan. What he did notice was the sudden pain around his neck. Sheridan's hand was big and completely smothered his throat. Merlin could barely breathe, choking as Sheridan squeezed tighter and tighter, his face inches from Merlin's own.

"Oh, no, you misunderstood me," he hissed into Merlin's horrified face, his breath rancid. "You have to be punished," Sheridan pushed the young warlock to the other side of the kitchen. Merlin's body crashed painfully into the furniture, his eyes bulging as the man gripped his neck again, squeezing gently, almost lovingly. Scrabbling frantically at the hands, Merlin began to feel dizzy from lack of air. Sheridan started laughing heartily.

"I didn't like you from the very moment I saw you. I knew you were useless."

Merlin's breath was becoming increasingly shallow. He knew this man was going to kill him; he could see it inside his eyes – a horrible glint of hatred and evil.

Sheridan slowly drew his sword and held it up for him to see, smiling sickly.

"I'm starving. We all are. And you know what they say; desperate times call for desperate measures. What do you say, kid? Maybe you can be useful after all."

"Please, don't do it," Merlin tried to release himself, but he found himself crushed against the wall again, an edge of a crate digging sharply into his back.

He wanted to use his magic, but if he did, if he ever got back to Camelot again, Arthur would know about it. And Merlin couldn't betray his friend like that, and if he ever got that day, the day he got back to his home, he would.

"Please, don't…" he rasped, scratching involuntarily at the hands that constricted his throat, his eyes beginning to water. "_Please_…"

"Are you going to cry, just as you did they first night you were here? For goodness sake, you're nothing but a _little_ boy! Do you know what I do to little boys?" Sheridan started laughing again when he saw the raw fear growing in Merlin's eyes. "Yes, the same thing I'm going to do to you," he came closer to Merlin, the sword grazing the young warlock's gut.

"What the hell is going on here?" someone appeared at the door, someone whom had just saved his life. It was the first mate. Merlin had almost never been happy to see anyone in all his life.

Sheridan dropped Merlin instantly and turned to face him.

"Nothing's going on here, Edwards. The Runt was just in need of a lesson is all."

Edwards didn't look happy and beckoned Sheridan away, gesturing to the crew to continue eating.

Merlin, lying in a shaking heap on the floor, caught hold of the side of a crate to pull himself to his feet. He stumbled into the kitchen where he slumped down in a corner, rubbing his aching neck and trying to calm his erratic breathing. His vision began to blur and black out, and he had to close his eyes for a moment to stop the world spinning. Sick rose in his throat and his head throbbed with each panicky heartbeat that pounded his chest.

_BANG_!!!

The door flew open, smashing into the side of the wall and coming off one of its hinges. Heavy footsteps announced the arrival of the man Merlin was sure had the devil within him.

The young warlock scrambled back towards a cupboard and shrunk in a crevice behind it, sobbing.

There was silence for a moment.

Merlin tried not to sneeze from all the cobwebs that clung to his nose and a spider crawling over his face.

"BOO!!!" Sheridan's ugly face appeared over the side of the cabinet, leering down at the terrified boy hidden behind it.

In a split second, Merlin was dragged out of his hole and pulled into the dining quarters again, where Sheridan threw him into the waiting arms of two burly crew members, who held him quite still, despite his fervent struggling.

"Now then, lads," Sheridan said, standing to face Merlin with the crew right behind him. "The Runt here has been rather ill-mannered, trying to feed me poison. That's attempted murder that is. And murder is a crime so…I think the Runt should be punished, yes?"

"Yes," the crew chimed as one.

Sheridan motioned Toms to the front of the audience and began whispering something in his ear. Toms nodded, causing his ginger mop of hair to bob around wildly, and the smirk on his face widened to a gruesome grin.

Merlin said nothing. He knew it would do him no good but instead just make things worse, so he just watched on with lifeless eyes, waiting for his fate.

Toms scuttled away at a motion from Sheridan as the man himself advanced on Merlin with a smirk.

"Your gonna wish you'd never crossed ways with me after this, boy," he spat in Merlin's face, his dirty teeth bared as Toms returned with a bundle of items, which he set down on the table after sweeping the abandoned plates of food to the side.

Sheridan gestured to the two sailors who held Merlin, and they pulled him over to the table and forced him down into a chair. Merlin jumped as Sheridan slammed his fist abruptly down next to him, a knife glinting in his hand. The young warlock swallowed, watching the dagger carefully while Sheridan reached over to the bundle Toms had brought and produced a quill, sheet of parchment and a dusty old jar. He set the paper in front of Merlin and placed the long quill next to it. The jar, however, was put on top of the scroll with a thud that rang throughout the room.

Silence.

Merlin stared at the items before him. It seemed that they were going to make him write…

"Lines?" Merlin's voice broke the silence, cutting through it like a sword. "Is that it?"

"Not quite," Sheridan answered, grinning horribly. "Have you noticed anything missing?"

Merlin looked at the objects again. The quill was there, the scroll. What was missing?

Then it hit him.

"Ink?" he asked.

"Precisely," Sheridan replied. His grin had stretched so wide now it looked almost inhuman. "Hold out your hand."

Merlin did not like the tone the man was using. The young warlock had never been one to follow orders, and that tone was undeniably a demanding one. He'd had more than enough of Sheridan's cruelty and, even though he'd learnt to be frightened of the man and not to stand up to him, Merlin couldn't take much more. In a burst of anger, he snapped.

"No," he said, leaning back in is chair and folding his arms, tucking his hands away.

Sheridan mock sighed, and motioned to the two men who still stood behind Merlin. They pulled the young warlocks hands out, easily resisting his protesting, and held out his right arm to Sheridan.

Merlin's moment of bravery was swept away in a matter of seconds, but he still tried to yank his wrist free from the clenched fists around them, his arm shaking with the effort. All his attempts were futile, however, and Sheridan began twirling his knife around his fingers, towering over Merlin.

"It seems we don't have any ink around today. So, you'll be using something else instead," he suddenly grabbed Merlin's closed hand. "You'll be using your own blood."

* * *

**Okay, I would just like to say (since a few of the people who've read this chapter already have told me this was leaning a bit towards "being a Harry Potter copy cat") I did not intend to copy **_**anything**_**! In my defence, I shall just add that I had actually not even seen the film or read the book before I wrote this. Just to confirm... ^^  
Don't hate me?**


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Hey, just thought I'd update pretty quickly, since I was so late with the last chapter. :}**

**I'm glad to see that people aren't too peeved that I used something similar to a Harry Potter idea. I was kinda worried about it... ^^"**

**Thanks goes to CrayonsPink, Dianne, Viridus Lupus, breyerfan123, Isis the Sphinx, lttlebrat93, enigma-kar, Altaira, Krox1, and MerlinStar for the amazing reviews! :D **

* * *

Merlin's face whitened as Sheridan prized open his hand, finger by finger, and held the dagger over the creamy skin. The hated man gently touched his hand with the sharp tip of the knife and began to slowly slice a long, clean cut over Merlin's palm. Scarlet blood started to drizzle out of the gash, and Merlin had to look away, gritting his teeth together to stop himself shouting out in pain.

Sheridan was clearly taking a morbid pleasure in this, and after he'd finished the cut, he held Merlin's trembling arm over the jar and began to squeeze his fist so that blood began to drip into the glass. Streams of red ran down over his fingers, eventually becoming too heavy to stay on his skin and then dripping into the jar. When it was filled with the dark red liquid, Sheridan finally freed Merlin's hand.

The young warlock snatched it away to his chest and held it tightly in his other hand, trying to crush away the pain and stop the blood running out all over his shirt.

"Now, then," Sheridan said brightly, sounding so sick it made Merlin feel queasy, "I want you to start writing. Pick up the quill."

Taking a deep breath and knowing he would have to do this or get into deeper trouble, Merlin released his blood-streaked hand and reached out for the white quill, trembling.

"What do you want me to write?" the young warlock asked, staring down at the paper, refusing to look Sheridan in the face.

"My name is Runt and I will listen to it," the man answered, keeping back laughter, something the crew was failing to do.

Merlin hated them. All of them.

"How – many – times?" he forced out, grinding his teeth together and trying to ignore the pain from his hand that stung as the quill inside his fist pressed into the cut.

"Until I say stop," Sheridan replied, now laughing heartily. "And if I should catch you taking a single break, you'll be writing lines with your entrails."

As the crowd began to disband, taking Sheridan along with them, Merlin raised his shaking hand and dipped the nib of the quill in his own blood that was glistening from within the jar.

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

Only divine intervention could have stopped the bubbling, steaming anger that boiled inside Merlin now, as he continued to write in the scarlet ink.

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

The cut was still streaming and it dripped blood all over the scroll, splattering it with hundreds of little, red dots.

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

_My name is Runt and I will kill Sheridan._

Merlin had to lick his thumb and rub out that last line with it, before starting again, quaking with fury.

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

Where was Arthur? Why hadn't he come? Would he come? Did he care? What was he doing now? Did he know where to go?

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

Merlin put down the quill and buried his head in his hands, not caring if blood now smeared his face. A sound like a door opening reminded him of Sheridan's threat, and he quickly picked the quill up again, wiping away the mingled blood and tears on his face and beginning to write once more.

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

The young warlock didn't look up, and after a short silence, the door closed again and footsteps pounded away.

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

_My name is Runt and I will listen to it._

* * *

Several hours later, when Merlin's wrist felt dead and he himself not much better, Sheridan finally gave the word for him to stop. Merlin had covered more than twenty pages, front and back, in his very own blood. Sheridan held up the thick mass of paper in his hand and waved it at the crew who were shouting catcalls at Merlin and laughing.

Merlin, however, could barely hear them. He was nodding his head and leaning over the table, unconsciously clasping his wounded hand in the other, his eyelids drooping. He was exhausted. All he needed was rest right now, but he wasn't going to get any yet.

"Oi, Runt!" Sheridan's call snapped him out of his almost sleep. "Didn't you hear me?"

Merlin looked drowsily around in confusion. Judging by the expression on other people's faces, Sheridan had been talking to him for a while. The young warlock could only blink as the man sidled over to him.

"Don't tell me that, even though you've been writing it for ages, you still aren't listening to your name!" Sheridan asked in mock horror.

Merlin knew only too well what was coming next, and he just laid his forehead on the table with a quiet thud.

"DO IT AGAIN!"

* * *

Arthur was standing at the front of the ship, leaning against the stay – a line that was used to keep the mast steady while sailing. He was just staring at the peaceful sea, but he was not as calm as the water spread out before him, however.

The wind had suddenly decided to stop, and all that was left was a faint breeze – not even enough to puff up the sails and make the ship move forward.

This was taking _way_ too long. All the things that were probably happening to Merlin now, while he was stuck here in the middle of nowhere…and there was nothing he could do about it. He wasn't able to make the wind come back, or move the ship with his bare hands. Arthur felt completely helpless and it frustrated him immensely.

The foresail lay at his feet, neatly folded and lines all rolled up. There was no way to tell, but Arthur was sure the ship wasn't moving at all.

Feeling restless, he tapped his fingers on the stay. His foot joined in and the tapping turned into an incoherent rhythm.

Suddenly, Arthur turned around and paced up and down the top deck. The worst thing about the lack of wind was the hot temperature that came with it. The sun was high up in the sky and made the copper plating on the ship feel like a burning fire when he touched it.

In this heat there wasn't much that could be done – all the other stuff that were daily jobs on the ship had already been taken care of by Matilda, John and even little Kaelan.

Arthur took off his red jacket and threw it on the deck with anger. Sweating with the heat, he continued pacing, images of Merlin flashing through his mind. He had covered all of the clumsy things his manservant had ever done, when he suddenly heard a loud splash, and a shower of icy water fell on him.

"Oi, watch it!" Arthur turned around, expecting to see somebody standing behind him with a bucket, which he'd just emptied all over him, accidentally on purpose. But there was nobody there, however, although he did catch sight of Kaelan's head sticking out of the water, with a big grin on his face from where he was swimming just next to the boat.

"Sorry, Arthur! I didn't mean to get you all wet like that."

Arthur sighed and ran his hand through his hair. The cold water was actually quite refreshing.

"Yeah, sure you did. Can you tell me when the wind might pick up again? I'm sort of in a hurry."

"To find Merlin?" Kaelan asked. "You can't rush the wind, though. Or trust it. It comes and goes whenever it wants. But Dad said it might return in the evening," he dove under water like he was some sort of fish, and kicked his feet up in the air. He came to the surface soon after, gasping for breath.

"And what do we do in the meantime?" Arthur quizzed, trying to keep the frustration he was feeling out of his voice. Pointlessly, walking up and down the ship was not doing him any good. And his legs were feeling a wobbly from the unsteady deck as the small boat bobbed up and down in the gentle waves.

"Swimming!" Kaelan exclaimed, the grin on his face turning into a big smile. "Are you coming, too? The water's great!"

Arthur's imagination ran away again before he could answer the question. In the worst case, Merlin was already dead…and even is he wasn't – _please, let him be alive_ – terrible things must be happening to him. And all the while, Arthur was swimming in the sea…

Just the thought of it made him feel sick. He couldn't have fun while Merlin was in the situation he was in. He just couldn't.

Arthur shook his head.

"No, I'm sorry. I can't."

Kaelan looked disappointed, but the prince turned around and walked back to the front of the ship where he sank onto a guardrail and waited for the wind to return.

* * *

**Thanks, Sannepan, for all the help you gave me with this chapter! :D**

**Next update out soon!**

**Oh, and if anyone was wondering why Merlin isn't using his magic to get himself out of all these sticky situations, then wonder no more. I simply wanted to bash poor Merlin up - so if I brought magic into the equation, the bashing wouldn't be quite so cruel. However, I still have no clues as to why I enjoy writing all this angst. I mean, Merlin is my favourite character of all time! Why would I want to bashing him up? I guess I'm just morbid. ^^"""**

**BUT he does get a nicer chapter towards the end, so I can't be completely evil! **


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**You'll be pleased to know that Merlin has some revenge in this chapter! I thought he deserved some at this point. :}**

**I'm updating because of... *sniff* ...the lack of a Merlin episode on Saturday... :'(  
And I wanted to cheer all you Merlin fan's up. ^^ **

**Thanks goes to lttlbrat93, CrayonsPink, Krox1, Isis the Sphinx, Dianne, unicorndiva, RandomCheesecake, Viridus Lupus, enigma-kar, MerlinStar, Scribbles111, Jellyhair, Altairia, and Loopstagirl for reviewing! :D**

**

* * *

**

It was near midnight when Sheridan gave the final order for Merlin to stop writing again.

The young warlock ignored all the taunts the crew threw him as Sheridan pinned up one of the blood covered parchments on a wall for all to see, and instead, exhausted and hurt, he crawled into his pile of ropes that served as a bed, and slipped into a small crook where he held his wounded hand in the other, softly running a lean finger over the gash.

It stretched from the beginning of his thumb to his little finger and was still oozing blood, so he took a knife out of his pocket that he had attained from the kitchens a few days ago, and began to tear away the hem of his tattered blue shirt. Once a lengthy strip had been ripped off, he wrapped it around the wound, gritting his teeth to stop himself from yelping with the sting.

The other men were all beginning to saunter off to their hammocks, so the room soon grew quiet, only broken by a few loud snores. Merlin was accustomed to these by now, however, having stayed just over a week on the dreaded ship.

It was hard to articulate the amount of time he had spent as a member of the crew. Sometimes, it felt like a few hours. Other times it felt like years. And what was more; he had not had a decent meal in that entire time. His stomach growled, reminding him of it once again.

He had always been skinny, but now he was beginning to curl in on himself. Every rib showed. That couldn't be right.

Still gripping his injured palm in a hand, Merlin crept out of his hole and edged his way over the creaking floorboards, and stumbled into the kitchens, swaying with the rock of the ship.

The kitchen served as more than just a place to cook. Most of the smaller tasks took place there, like laundry, other cleaning chores and most of the mops, brooms and cleaning equipment were kept there, too. Of course, all of the scutwork fell to Merlin – Sheridan made sure of that – so he knew his way pretty well through the labyrinth of stuff that ranged from cutlasses to carrots, to buckets and dirty old socks, ones that Merlin probably should have washed days ago.

Ducking under a derelict construction of brooms, Merlin finally reached the food cupboard. After opening it, he found there wasn't much to choose from. He had a lavish selection of maggoty biscuits, meat with clumps of mould growing all over it, or those dreaded potatoes that everyone had seen quite enough of.

Deciding on the biscuits, Merlin reached into the cupboard, flicked the maggots away and began to stuff himself. If he was caught stealing food, he'd probably be thrown over the side of the ship, but Merlin was desperate.

He squeezed himself down beside an old basket and a box full of metal pulleys, and crammed the biscuits into his mouth. They didn't exactly taste delicious, but the young wizard was too ravenous to care.

After the handful of biscuits was finished, he made to stand up and go back to his bed of ropes, but something caught his eye.

In the basket beside him, lay a familiar coat. Merlin recognized it as Sheridan's – the man always wore it. It was the laundry basket, so it was probably there waiting to be washed.

Suddenly, Merlin had a glorious thought.

A plan began to form in his mind. It wasn't a particularly intricate scheme, nor was it worthy of taking the vengeance on Sheridan he deserved, but it would most definitely be fun, and that's what Merlin seriously needed right now.

With a newfound energy, the young warlock leapt to his feet and scurried over to a pile of crates in a corner. He picked up a nearby crowbar and jammed it under the lid of one of the boxes, and took a look behind him to make sure no one was there, before bringing a fist down on the end of the crowbar. The lid came off with a horribly loud snap.

Merlin shot his gaze over at the door, knowing that if anyone caught him, he would have to endure yet more brutality from Sheridan. There was not a thing to be seen, however, so, breathing a sigh of relief, he pulled the wooden lid away and peered into the crate.

Inside, there was a jumble of small packets made of slightly browning cotton. He took the one nearest to him and pulled the little strings that opened it. There was a red flaky substance inside that Merlin knew to be spice.

He snatched a few more packets out of the crate before shoving the lid back on, and made his way quickly to a table where he grabbed a bowl and took his faithful knife out of his pocket again. After shaking all the fiery red spice into the bowl, he began to use the butt of the short dagger to grind the specks up into a fine dust.

He returned to the basket with the bowl in his hand, and pulled the sea green coat out before rubbing the powder all over the inside of it.

Placing the sabotaged coat back in the basket, Merlin quickly snuck out of the kitchens again, silently laughing at Sheridan.

All that remained now was to wait until the morning, when no doubt the man would put on the jacket…

* * *

The next morning, Merlin set down a crock of porridge on the table before the awaiting crew. Everyone groaned; they all knew Merlin was a dreadful chef, and his porridge was not something to be sniffed at – literally.

Like he did every morning, the young warlock ignored them, and slid the crock along the table, spooking out the white paste into each bowl with a hearty splat. He skipped Sheridan's space, as the man had not arrived at the table yet. Merlin hoped – no, _pleaded_ – that he was somewhere, putting the jacket on.

As if on cue, Sheridan suddenly stepped into the room, puffing out his chest. He liked to feel and look in command, and let the crew acknowledge his 'magnificent' presence for a moment before swaggering over to his place at head of the table.

Merlin had to pretend he was fascinated with his porridge, for the hated man was wearing the coat, and he sniggered quietly into his dish while trying to eat and not draw attention to himself.

The wait for Sheridan's reaction to the homemade itching powder took a frighteningly long time – Merlin almost thought it wasn't going to work – before Sheridan suddenly raised a hand and scratched the back of his thick neck.

Merlin hunched his shaking shoulders over his food and tried to smother his laughter as Sheridan scratched himself yet again. He seemed to write it off as any other itch, but he pulled a face, confused, when he obviously began to feel the spice irritating his skin. He began to squirm, ever so slightly at first, but clearly getting increasingly annoyed.

Suddenly, he leapt to his feet, itching everywhere. The crew noticed and began to stare at their boss, bemused. Merlin, however, couldn't look. He was sure that if he did, he would burst out laughing and blow his cover.

Sheridan continued to scratch as he danced, hopped, skipped and jumped around the deck, itching the coat feverishly. Merlin began to shake with laughter and spilt the cup of water in his hand all over his face. A nearby man caught sight of him, and nudged him with an elbow.

"Did you do that?" he asked, staring at Merlin in wonder and motioning towards Sheridan who was now leaping around as if being stung by a million swarms of bees.

The young warlock looked up, his eyes sparkling with amusement, and nodded.

"Hey, everyone! The Runt got Sheridan!"

Everybody burst into applause and cheered. Before he knew it, Merlin was suddenly being hoisted up off his seat and onto two sailor's shoulders. They began to push through the crowd with him on their shoulders until they got to the centre where Merlin, who felt quite dazed at this point, was practically mobbed by exuberant, laughing sailors, who were clearly waiting for a chance to laugh at the man, even if they always backed him up in his wrong doings.

Merlin gingerly lifted a hand and waved at his supporters. They burst into even more rapturous laughter and began to cheer.

"MERLIN! MERLIN! MERLIN! MERLIN! MERLIN!"

It was the first time Merlin had heard his real name used in over a week.

And it felt _so_ good.

However, Sheridan's nearest and dearest – his inner circle – who stuck by him throughout his ruthless ways, did not join in with the celebrations, and instead grouped together to protect Sheridan who had thrown off his coat, found the remainders of the red spice, and was now glowering at the grinning and oblivious Merlin with a look that could kill.

"C'mon, break it up! _Break_ it up!" the inner circle demanded, mingling with the gleeful crowd and pulling them apart, clearly furious.

"Sorry, mate," one of the men holding Merlin said, setting the young warlock down on the floor and backing away into the assembly, which had gathered by both Sheridan and his men's orders.

Completely unaware of what was happening, Merlin continued to beam at the flock of sailors with an astronomical smile, until Sheridan motioned for two men to bring Merlin to him.

The young warlock suddenly found himself engulfed in the grasp of two hefty press-gangers, who hauled him over to Sheridan. He looked so angry he could have bitten Merlin's head off right then and there.

He leaned in very close to Merlin, looking him right it his terrified blue eyes with his own dark ones.

"No one makes a fool of me," he hissed ever so quietly in Merlin's ear. "NO ONE!"

Merlin jumped at the sudden change in volume and his heart flew to his mouth, making it difficult to breath as Sheridan grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him towards him, taking Merlin's feet right off the ground.

"Send this vile, pathetic filth to the brig," Sheridan spat, throwing Merlin back into the open arms of the two sailors.

As they began to drag him away, Merlin had a feeling that the brig was going to be more than just an imprisonment. There was a certain air surrounding the crowd who had once been applauding him, but were now following the procession that consisted of Sheridan, his men and Merlin, with an atmosphere which reminded the young warlock of a funeral.

His curiosity and apprehension got the better of him, and he turned to the man on his left who had him in a vice like grip.

"What's in the brig?" he asked, his eyes round and desiring knowledge.

The man looked down at him with a mirthful smirk.

"Oh, don't you know? The brig is haunted."

"Yeah," the other man agreed with him, also sneering down at Merlin, "there was once an old stowaway on this ship who got himself an…unfortunate ending. His ghost still creeps around, moaning…"

"He'll eat your brains."

"Gouge out your eyes!"

"Shatter your bones!"

"Cut out your tounge!"

"And oh, how I wish I could witness it," Sheridan said with a bark of a laugh, turning to join the conversation. "But I don't think one such as your repulsive self deserves my presence while being torn to pieces."

Merlin swallowed. He was not superstitious like these men seemed to be, but he was frightened nevertheless, and as they neared the big, imposing door that led to the brig, he began to quiver.

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**Hope you liked Merlin's revenge there! ^^**

**Next update up soon! **

**Review? **


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Still no Arthur's POV in this chapter, sorry. ^^"  
I think the next time we hear of him is from chapters 19 - 20.  
It's just that Merlin has a big part to play in the story pretty shortly...  
SPOILERS AGAIN!!! :0 **

**Thanks goes to Sannepan, enigma-kar, lttlbrat93, Krox1, CrayonsPinks, Altaira, Loopstagirl, MerlinStar, Dianne, Scribbles111, and Moonhera for reviewing! :D **

**Oh, and special thanks to Sannepan, who actually wrote the second half of this chapter! ^^**

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Merlin quickly pulled himself to his feet as the door of the brig slammed shut behind him with crash. He could hear Sheridan beginning to laugh on the other side, an evil sound.

"We're not letting you out of there, you know," he snarled in amusement. "You're gonna stay in there to _rot _forever!"

Footsteps pounded away, gradually fading and leaving Merlin alone in the brig.

The room was cold, which was strange, as the rest of the decks were all both hot and humid. Merlin shivered and wished he had his jacket – wherever it was – but he knew wishing would get him nowhere, so instead, he wrapped his arms tightly around his skinny frame and looked about at his surroundings.

There were a few cells but they were all falling to pieces with rust, and one of them had a door missing altogether, which had fallen on a mouldy crate, crushing it, though it was barely visible, as there was only one window clean enough to allow light through. The Moon bathed the room in silky white light, creating long, dark shadows that drifted back and forth across the floor as the anchored ship rocked with the powerful waves that crashed every so often against the hull.

Merlin swallowed a lump in his throat, afraid of the corners and far side of the room that were still shrouded in darkness despite the porthole. From the ceiling, an old lantern with cracked glass panes creaked loudly on its rusty chain as Merlin slowly edged his way further into the room, keeping a wary eye on the shadows.

A cold breeze that seemed to come from nowhere blew across the back of his neck. It felt like the breath of a dead thing, and he whipped around, feeling his magic surge into his finger, ready for him to hurl it at whatever might attack him.

There was nothing there, however, but that was still no comfort to Merlin as he remembered the ghost the men had spoken of. What if they were right? What if there really was a ghost? And what if it was waiting for him somewhere in the darkness?

Merlin was sure, absolutely positive, that he was being watched. He could feel eyes on the back of his neck, boring into him.

He was facing the door with his back turned to the room, standing stock still, frozen in the stare. There was something behind him. It was coming closer. Where was it? Was it there, right behind him?

He could almost feel ghostly fingers reaching out to him, sending shooting shocks of cold up the length of his spine. He could feel them. They were there. His back was ice.

He ran.

Bolting, he reached the door and began beating his fists on the wood, shouting for release. But there was only silence. And the thing was still coming towards him. He stood there for a moment, trying to resist the embrace of fright, before spinning around to face the thing.

Nothing. It had all been his imagination.

But he still had to get away. Edging along the wall, feeling his way more than anything, he managed to creep away from the fear, to a little alcove, which he crawled into and huddled, shaking.

* * *

Some time later, after most of the initial shock of the 'ghost' had worn off, Merlin could be found resting his head against the side of the alcove, eyes closed. In his right hand he held the knife he always had with him. He was twisting it around and around it in his fingers, trying to take his mind off the things what were happening.

But he kept thinking of one memory and one memory only. It was yet another hunting trip Arthur had insisted upon, and one that he had, of course, dragged Merlin along on too…

* * *

Arthur let go off a small twig and it swooped back and hit Merlin full in the face. The young warlock objected loudly, but a foot from above made him shut up.

"You know we're only up here to hunt. Stop complaining!" Arthur hissed angrily, setting his foot on a higher branch. He pulled himself up and he reached out for the next bough.

"It was you who wanted to climb up here, not me. I already know how the forest looks like from above, thank you very much," Merlin retorted as he tried to pull a twig out from under his jacket where it had firmly lodged itself, poking him.

"Oh, shut up, _Mer_lin…"

Merlin subsided into a disgruntled silence and followed Arthur the best he could, which was hard with all the leaves and twigs jabbing him constantly and getting in his way.

Suddenly, Arthur stopped and grabbed the crossbow off his back. He had to pull at it a couple of times; it seemed to be stuck, but when he got it out, he immediately pointed it at something through the leaves.

Because he was hanging underneath the prince, Merlin had no idea what was going on, and decided to ask.

"Why are we stopping?"

The deer on the ground looked up, her ears pointing in multiple directions, trying to figure out where the sound had come from. There was something in the tree in front of her and there was also a strange smell. Time to flee…

"_MER_LIN! Now look what you've done!" Arthur yelled, quickly stepping down from the uncomfortable position he had been in when trying to aim for the deer.

Merlin was startled with all the sudden movement above him, and let go of the branch he had been holding onto, to keep the falling leaves out of his eyes. In the meantime, his feet lost their grip on the tree and he felt them slip away. Everything was a green-ish brown blur as Merlin fell, until it all came back into focus when he hit the floor with a jarring thud. Stunned, he lay there for a few seconds. Eventually, the leaves became leaves again, and the tree trunks looked like trunks. He lay on his back, catching his breath, and heard Arthur's voice.

"Merlin? You okay?"

The prince had climbed down from the tree and was now knelt beside him. Merlin tried to figure out if he was okay, but his mind was still a fuzzy blank and the black dots in his eyesight wouldn't go away.

He wiggled his fingers and stretched his muscles. Nothing seemed to hurt.

"Oww!" he yelped in pain as he tried to move his left foot.

"What is it?" Arthur jumped up and took a step backwards, not wanting to cause any pain by coming too close.

"It's my ankle. I think it's broken. Oww!" Merlin had tried to move his foot again, but even the smallest movement of the joint made a sharp pain shoot up his leg.

"Broken? Does this mean you can't be my servant? Well, that's more than less than unhelpful…" Arthur grumbled, and went into a rant about finding a new servant who would be, even though the new boy would be better than Merlin, a total disaster.

"Hey, I'm in pain here!" Merlin replied, but was liking the thought of a couple of weeks off. He would finally have some time to practice his magic…

"Merlin," Arthur wasn't going to give him his free time yet, "you do know you're lying in a bed of mushrooms?"

Merlin sat up and looked around him. He was indeed surrounded by a field of the things.

"So? It's not like they're going to eat me."

"No, but…well, look," Arthur said, gesturing at a disgusting black slime that was oozing out of the split mushrooms and running all over Merlin's hands.

Merlin lifted his hand. Black sticky threads hung from his fingers and dangled as he shook them.

"Egh…" he tried to wipe it off using his shirt. "That can't be healthy…well, are you gonna help me up or not?"

Arthur's eyes widened and his face turned into an expression of aversion.

"You're covered in that stuff. No _way_!"

"But I'm crippled!" Merlin stated dramatically. "I can't get back home all by myself! Arthur…" he was pleading now, "please? Its not like you have to carry me or anything. I just need something to lean on."

"Use a stick."

Merlin sighed, covering his eyes with a hand, frustrated. Why did Arthur have to act so stubbornly? He quickly removed his hand when he remembered it was still covered with the ooze. It must be all over his face now as well now…great.

"C'mon, you can't leave me here," he reasoned when the prince still made no attempts to help him and was instead glaring at the black slime with contempt.

"Fine!" Arthur exclaimed suddenly. He stepped on the mushrooms, crushing them with his feet and causing blobs of dark goo to go flying all over the place. "Give me your hand, then. And I'm _not_ carrying you, remember that."

Merlin stretched out his hand. Arthur pulled him out of the fungi and laid his servants arm around shoulders for support.

"Can you stand on it?" he asked briskly, looking down at Merlin's left foot.

Merlin tried to put some weight on his painful ankle and gasped.

"Yeah, but it still hurts," he said, hopping up and down on his other foot to regain some balance. "I don't think it's broken, though, just sprained."

"I'm sorry."

Merlin decided he hadn't heard correctly.

"Excuse me, what?"

"Don't make me say it again. You heard me perfectly," Arthur muttered and immediately steered the conversation away from what he deemed an awkward subject. "Try taking a step."

Merlin smiled. He didn't blame Arthur for what happened. But he was still touched by the apology. Arthur never apologised, not even when it really was his fault.

"Thanks, Arthur," he said softly.

* * *

Arthur had been there to help him back to the castle. When they reached the edge of the forest, Merlin was completely out of breath. The prince – albeit begrudgingly – took him on his back and carried him all the way to the gates without complaining.

Merlin sighed. Arthur wasn't there to be by his side, to help him. He was all alone. Not even the rats wanted to have some sort of conversation with him. Of course he knew rats weren't able to speak, but when Merlin tried, the little creatures would just run off as quickly as they could, as though he had some kind of infectious disease. In short, they treated him no better than the crew.

Arthur had been there for him all that time ago, but now, the prince was probably nowhere near the ship, let alone by his side, and had no idea of his whereabouts. And who would think about Merlin being on a ship, in the middle of some sea? And the sea was big and there were a countless amount of harbours to dock at for supplies. His friend was never going to find him and Merlin was going to die on this awful ship, and probably in this very brig as well. If he was lucky.

He turned the knife around in his hand and grabbed the handle. Suddenly bursting with anger, he lifted the blade and jammed into the wooden floor, letting out an angry growl. No, Merlin wasn't thinking about killing himself. He wouldn't give Sheridan the satisfaction.

He was sure Arthur was looking for him out there, whether on sea or land, he was searching. And Merlin just needed to hold on.

But hold on to what?

There was absolutely _nothing_ to be of comfort. Every day was filled with the sickening chores, day in, day out, and misuse from Sheridan and his _buddies_. Until Arthur found him, Merlin was completely alone on the ship. It hurt deep inside his chest, like his heart was aching.

With both hands, Merlin took the handle of the knife and pulled it out of the floor. Using the sharp tip of the blade and the small amount of light that shined through a nearby crack in the wall, he started to scrape into the wooden column beside him that he had previously been leaning against.

It took Merlin a while to draw the human-like figure. He wanted it to be as perfect and natural as possible, and therefore he took his time.

The knight's face received some features and even a mop of hair. A few moments later, the armour was completely finished and only needed a crest. Merlin tried to remember what the dragon looked like and copied it perfectly.

But while he cut the wood, tears were streaming down his face.

"Arthur…"

Eventually, even though his hands were cramped from holding the knife so tightly, there was a semi-perfect drawing of Arthur Pendragon, standing in a relaxed kind of pose, carved into the wood – to stay there until the ship either sunk or was blown to pieces.

Merlin felt just a little bit less alone, now that, to some extent, Arthur was with him.

One day his friend would come and save him, but until that day, he had the little drawing to keep him company. Merlin smiled and ran a slender finger over it, before he closed his eyes again and fell asleep, his head resting on the wood.

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**Next chapter up soon! :D **


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**And here is the next chapter! I hope you all like it. ^^**

**Thanks goes to lttlbrat93, Loopstagirl, MerlinStar, Scribbles111, bcargill9, RandomCheesecake, CrayonsPink, Viridus Lupus, Isis the Sphinx, and enigma-kar for those wonderful reviews! :)**

**Special note to Viridus Lupus: Oh, I absolutely LOVE that idea of yours! Who knows, maybe I'll even write it... MERLIN & ARTHUR FOREVER!!! :D**

**Special note to Isis the Sphinx: Hahahaha! Yeah, I'd love to see Merlin befriend a ghost! Awesomeness. :}**

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Merlin woke to the smell of a salty breeze on his face from the crack in the wall and hushed voices above him. Crawling out of the alcove and finding his shirt had gone horribly clammy from leaning on the damp wooden wall all night, Merlin stood up and stretched.

He could just about hear voices on the deck above and, having nothing better to do and being a curious type, he decided to listen in. Looking around, he spotted an old barrel, which he climbed onto so he was closer to the ceiling.

The barrel began to slide back and forth with the sway of the moving ship and he had to grab onto a bar that was sticking out of the ceiling to stop himself falling off. It calmed down after that, and he concentrated on listening into the conversation above him.

He vaguely recognized a few of the voices. One of them was Sheridan's – just the sound of him made Merlin bristle and grit his teeth – another was Toms', and the rest eluded him, apart from a man Merlin believed was one of the press-gangers who had kidnapped both him and Arthur almost two weeks ago.

"I'm not standing for him any more," Sheridan announced loudly. "We have to get rid of him."

"You do realized you're suggesting…" Toms replied, and paused nervously, "_mutiny_?"

"That is precisely what I am suggesting."

There was muted silence before another man spoke up.

"You mean you have a plan?"

"Whoa, wait! Hang on a minute, here," someone interrupted. "We can't do away with the captain. Who'll take his place?"

"Well, its clear it'll be me," Sheridan scoffed. "And yes, I do have a plan."

Merlin could just see him sitting there, leaning forward and beckoning the men around him closer, leering at them all with an evil smirk, and it made his eyes narrow angrily. If Sheridan had plans to overthrow the ship and 'get rid' of the captain – whoever he was – then things could only get worse for Merlin. There was no way he was going to let this happen, so he listened in closer to extract any and all information on the mutiny.

"You know what he's like. It'll be a breeze to get him out of his cabin for once," Sheridan said. "All we have to do is get him near the side of the ship. So, Toms, at noon today I want you on the helm. Mark, you'll be in the crows nest and you'll shout 'man overboard' when I give the signal."

"There's going to be a man overboard?"

"We could always throw the runt over…" someone suggested, causing the intently listing Merlin to reel.

"As much as I would like to, there will only be one man overboard today, and that'll be the captain. Besides, I want the runt to starve to death and rot away in the brig like he deserves."

Someone laughed.

"So what are we doing, then?" a sailor asked, his chair issuing a quiet creak as he leant forward.

"As soon as Mark has shouted 'man overboard', I'll run into the captain's cabins and bring him outside to the side of the ship. He's an idiot, he wont suspect a thing."

"And then what?"

"And then me and Toms will push him over."

"He'll drown?"

"Exactly. Are you all in?"

There was the sound of incoherent mumbles of agreement and a few slapping of hands. Chairs grated over the floor as their previous inhabitants pushed them back and stood up before making their way out of the room.

Seeing no further reason to stand on the barrel that was beginning to wobble again, Merlin jumped off it and started thinking hard. He couldn't let them go through with the mutiny, and for that reason he was going to have to warn the captain somehow. The only problem was, he utterly helpless in the brig.

He could always try the door with his magic. He had not done so before because he preferred to be where he was not being beaten up and ridiculed for no good reason every five minutes.

Creeping across the dark room, Merlin made it to the door and crouched down to look through the keyhole. He flexed his fingers and sharpened his vision, allowing his magic to stream into his eyes and flash a brilliant gold before mentally ordering the key in the lock to turn. With a click, it opened the door, and the young warlock stood up, quietly pushing it open. He flinched when it creaked horribly. There was the sound of footsteps thumping down the stairs.

A face appeared around the side of the staircase and caught sight of Merlin who was halfway out of the door. The young warlock froze as the sailor came over, confused. How had he opened the door? Oh, well. It wasn't like it mattered.

Merlin found himself pushed roughly back inside the brig and the door slammed behind him. The man turned the key, locking it, and pulled it out before taking his post at a table outside the door, watching it carefully.

Great, there was no getting out that way.

Merlin turned back to face the room and scowled at it, looking for another escape route. The porthole caught his attention. It would be a squeeze, but he could get through there…right?

On closer inspection, Merlin decided he would break out that way and somehow climb up the side of the ship to where the captain's quarters were. He had a rough idea where they were, because he had been told explicitly on many occasions not to ever set foot in there. When inquired as to why, Merlin had been cuffed over the head and informed that scum like him were not worthy of seeing the captain. Stupid prats…

_No time to think about that now_, Merlin told himself, using his uninjured hand to prize open the grime covered catch to the window. It swung open and he stuck his head out, peering up at the side of the ship. The planks of wood that made the sides stuck out slightly – he could use them as foot and handholds – so he pulled himself out of the porthole.

The widest part of him was his shoulders, and there was a horrible moment when he thought they weren't going to come through; he was wary of pushing too hard and flying out of the window like a cork, which would end him up in the raging waves below.

However, after a great deal of wriggling, struggling and squirming, he finally managed to pull himself out of the hole, and began the slippery accent to the window which he was sure led to the captain's cabin. He was lucky it was almost directly across the porthole he'd chosen; otherwise he'd be stuffed.

A salty spray of water would fly up and shower him every so often and made it difficult to keep his hands and feet on the planks that only stuck out an inch or so from each other. His bandaged hand was not of much use, either, and he soon began to struggle as the curve of the ship took a turn for the worse, and he had to use the stinging palm to climb.

At long last, after what seemed like a lifetime, he made it to the top and pulled himself over the guardrail. He fell with a thud onto the floor of the little balcony and lay there for a moment, catching his breath, before sitting up and looking around.

The balcony was an extension of what looked like a study – Merlin could see it on account of the huge sliding glass door that was there instead of a regular wall. Shelves lining the sides of the study were filled with an array of books, all ranging in size, shape and colour. There were also a few highly polished tables in the cabin, all abiding upon a light green carpet with a maroon red design on it. On the tables themselves sat all kinds of knickknacks. Merlin could see at least five globes of the world, a stack of maps, a sextant, a rack filled with swords, papers lying all over a desk and a lantern hanging from the ceiling.

Sliding open the door, Merlin stepped into the room. This had to be the captain's quarters – it was too rich to be one of the crew's – but he could not see the man he was searching for, whatsoever.

He edged further into the room, looking around to make sure he had not missed anyone lurking by a cabinet or hidden behind the door. When he was sure he was completely alone, he began to relax a little and wander around, touching and probing the strange metal contraptions on the tables of which probably aided the person who liked to study maps.

He found a pair of spectacles on the desk that looked oddly familiar, but he soon forgot them when he heard footsteps outside the door and the handle turning…

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**Ooo, a certain Fishing King returns in the next chapter - and I assure you that he'll have a few tales to tell!**

**Spoilers for next chapter: Brun talks to crabs and battles vile beasts! Merlin plots and schemes to his hearts content! And who will be the man overboard??? :0**

**Please review - it means the world to me - and it totally makes my day every time! ^^**


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**And our favourite Fishing King is back! I've tried to put him as much in character as possible! ^^ He really is a fun OC to write - he just rambles on and on about the most ludicrous of things! **

**Thanks goes to Krox1, lttlbrat93, MerlinStar, Viridus Lupus, Scribbles111, Altaira, RandomCheesecake, Isis the Sphinx, Loopstagirl, Anonymous Sister of the Author, CrayonsPink, enigma-kar, and Moonhera for reviewing! That list has got so long now! THANK YOU!!! :D**

**Oh, and guess what? Today is a very special day. Why? BECAUSE MERLIN IS BACK!!! *squeal* :D :D :D**

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Merlin did not expect to see the man who came through the door. Mostly because he thought him to be dead, but also because he had not expected such a man as he to run a ship with the crew that it did. It was very out of character.

Brun was humming to himself as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him before turning back and making his way over to a table where he pulled out a draw and set a bottle of rum he found there on the surface. Merlin stood stock still, frozen to the spot and waiting for the old fisherman to see him.

Brun poured himself some of the rum into a glass, and was about to take a sip when he caught sight of Merlin, who was standing ridged in the corner.

"Oh, my goodness gracious me!" he exclaimed, dropping his glass on the floor and staring at Merlin as though he were a ghost come back to haunt him.

Merlin himself was not doing much better. He had just found a person he thought was dead! But somehow, he managed to muster the power for speech.

"How…" he cleared his throat. "How did you escape the Leviathan?"

Brun blinked several times before accepting that Merlin was real and sitting down heavily behind his desk, perching the spectacles on the end of his long nose and stroking his beard.

"Well," he began, looking Merlin up and down, clearly wondering why the young warlock looked in such a bad way, "as I've always said, and as everyone has always known, I am The Great Survivalist, The Fishing King, Lord of The Sea and Emperor Over All Creatures. All I did was command the vile beast not to harm me. I've done it many times before, actually. There I was," he spread his hands out before him. Merlin just stared, "surrounded by all manner of foul things, and I stood up and told them all to leave or suffer the consequences. They, being slightly brainless, I'm sure you know what I mean, sea beasties are all the same as everyone knows, just laughed, snorted, grunted and snarled, or whatever noise that particular species would utter, and came charging at me, claws, knives, tridents and flippers flashing. Of course I soon showed them all who was boss and they've obeyed my ever since. Rather grand, don't you think?" Merlin tried to get a word in at this point, but Brun kept going. "So, yeah, I saw that rum old Leviathan off, and after many days drifting at sea, I finally found myself washed up on an island. There were some very talkative crabs there, I must say. Anyway, I then managed to crawl my way to a village where I recovered and set off to find a new ship, cause The Tempest was…" he sniffed loudly, "sunk, as I'm sure you know. I got myself a fare to Brinkwell and…oh, I can't remember now…b-but somehow I-I got this ship. The thing is…" he leant forward on the desk and gave Merlin an unwavering stare, "how did _you_ get here?"

Merlin closed his eyes and shook his head to wipe away all the madness the man had just hurled at him. After he had managed to deduce Brun had washed up on a beach and somehow got himself The Emrys, he opened them again.

"Well…err…I was kidnapped," he said, but, suddenly, realization hit him. He was only here, on the ship and away from Camelot, by Brun's word, which it must be, seeing as Sheridan was under the captain's orders and in charge of the press-gangers who had abducted him in the first place. But _Brun_ giving orders to kidnap people? That was just too out of character. What was going on here?

"You mean you were press-ganged?" Brun quizzed, oblivious to Merlin's thoughts.

"Yes…" Merlin said carefully. "I understand it was an accident, me being taken I mean."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure it was," Brun said smoothly, sorting through a few papers. "How are you enjoying your stay, then? I trust it's been pleasant?"

"No," Merlin said sharply, "no, my stay has not been _pleasant_. Do you realize what Sheridan's been doing?"

"What do you mean?" Brun abandoned the papers and looked up curiously.

About to explain everything, Merlin was interrupted by a shrill shout from above.

"MAN OVERBOARD!!!"

Merlin shot his gaze over to the sliding glass doors, which, judging by the position of the sun, showed him it was noon. The mutiny had begun. There was no time to explain what Sheridan had been doing. He had to protect Brun. But the captain had stood up and was already making for the door…

Merlin leapt into his path before he could reach it, and pressed himself firmly against the door so no one could go in or out.

"No, wait! You can't go out there! You're in danger!" he said, cutting straight to the point. "Sheridan plans to overthrow the ship."

"A mutiny?" Brun frowned.

"Yes – I overheard him and the crew when I was in the brig. They're going to get you outside and throw you over the side of the ship. You can't let Sheridan take over!" Merlin was becoming desperate now. "You've got to do something to stop them!"

Brun was clearly thinking hard, and comically put a hand on his chin. Merlin bit his lip, hoping he would believe him, and waited for an answer.

"Well, what do you suggest I do?" Brun eventually asked.

It was now Merlin's turn to think hard. He turned the situation over and over in his mind, painfully aware of the time that was slowly slipping away. Suddenly, an idea launched into his head and he snapped his fingers as a plan began to form. Sheridan and his men were superstitious – that much was clear when they had told him tales of the ghost – and maybe they would also be frightened of other things, things like The Black Spot. Merlin had heard of it once when a few sailors were passing through Ealdor. He had crouched, hidden behind a corner with Will, listening to the stories they were telling to some of the older children who sat around at their feet, quite avid to hear more. The Black Spot was told to be the most potent curse a man could put upon another – in pirate terms, anyway. If Merlin could somehow give Sheridan The Black Spot, then maybe he would think he was cursed and call off the mutiny…

Quickly making up his mind, Merlin ran over to the side of a table and grabbed a scroll and pot of ink.

"Okay, I've got a plan…" he said, dipping a finger inside the pot and putting it on the paper. "You stay here, and after five minuets go below deck and find those in the crew who aren't with Sheridan. It's only his 'inner circle' you need to worry about. The rest of the crew are loyal," he put more ink on his finger and rubbed it on the scroll. "Once you've got enough men, come back up on the main deck. I'll make sure Sheridan gets this…" he held up parchment that had a large, black, smudgy dot in the centre, before scrunching it up into a ball and shoving it in his pocket, "…and he'll think he's been cursed. Then, hopefully, he'll abort the mutiny and you and your men can apprehend him."

Brun nodded furiously, and Merlin only prayed that the old fisherman wouldn't get caught when he went below deck.

Leaving the Captain in his study, Merlin snuck out the door to find himself in a long passageway. There were a few doors that led off to other cabins, and the corridor itself was filled with great, big, green potted plants. It was vastly different from the region of the ship Merlin had seen, and a good deal cleaner.

He could hear someone coming, so quickly hid behind one of the plants. Merlin did not recognize the man who passed, humming something as he rounded another corner, and disappeared. Quickly peering through the plant to make sure the coast was clear, the young wizard snuck down the corridor. A few of the floorboards creaked loudly as he gingerly trod on them, and Merlin was quite sure someone would burst out of the cabins and grab him, but no one did.

He was soon out of the passageway, and then discovered there were two more to choose from, either left or right. Choosing left, Merlin edged stealthily down the alleyway. Presently, he came to a window, and after checking to make sure no one was around, he peeked cautiously over the sill to see where he was. The deck was spread before him and he could just see a few of Sheridan's nearest and dearest gathering in a line along the side of the ships guardrail, all shouting man overboard. Sheridan was standing a little way back from them, slouched at the foot of the stairs that led up to the door that was just next to the window Merlin was looking through.

Well, this would make things a little more challenging…

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**Next chapter up soon! :}**

**Thank you once again for reviewing - I can't tell you just how much it means to me... :) **


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Oh, wow! I simply cannot believe this! Over 200 reviews! Already! The story still has ten more chapters to go! WOW! Thank you so so so much! :D **

**It was quite strange actually. I was getting these reviews...and everyone was saying well done for getting such an amount...and I was wondering why...AND THEN I SAW THERE WAS 2OO!!! I hadn't even noticed! XD Oh, I'm such an idiot... *slaps forehead* **

**Anyway, thanks goes to Jellyhair, Altaira, Loopstagirl, Scribbles111, unicorndiva, Dianne, Isis the Sphinx, Viridus Lupus, CrayonsPink, Moonhera, Anonymous Sister of the Author, enigma-kar, lttlbrat93, Krox1, RandomCheesecake, and talk-ape for the **_**astounding **_**amount of beautiful reviews! :D **

**Hey, tell you what - why don't we play a little game? Who can spot the miniature pig warriors in this chapter? ;)**

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Opening the door next to the window with extreme care, Merlin felt a light breeze escape the small crack. The door led to a second level, which then in turn led to a stairs that went down to the deck. Sheridan was right at the bottom of the stairs, meters away from Merlin.

The young warlock could see a trapdoor at the top of the stairs. If he could slip through there then he would be hidden under the staircase where he could throw the piece of paper bearing the Black Spot at Sheridan.

He opened the door a tiny bit further and slunk out. Now on the other side and in the open air, Merlin felt somewhat venerable, so he shut the door quietly, and keeping a wary eye on Sheridan, flicked the trapdoor's catch away and opened it. Hoping it would not creak, he pushed it up and was relieved when it did not. He did not want to be seen by the many sailors who were on the deck, alerted by the cries of man overboard, so he slithered his body through the door.

He dropped to the floor with a thud. Sheridan turned around and Merlin scrabbled further into the shadows to escape his sharp eyes. After a few moments in which the young warlock was absolutely certain that the hated man could see him, Sheridan turned back to face the crowd by the side of the ship.

Sending a silent thank you to the sky, Merlin crawled closer towards him, pulling the scrunched up paper from his pocket. Sheridan's hand flew to the back of his neck as the scroll hit him and fell to the floor. He looked around, and, seeing it, picked it up and looked at it closely before unfurling it until it was flat and spread out between his hands.

Merlin grinned broadly as Sheridan started shaking, his eyes widening as he saw the dreaded mark. The man swallowed and cast his gaze around, in search of the origins of the mysterious paper. When he saw no one, however, he reverted his eyes back to the Black Spot. Then he did something Merlin never thought he'd see in his _entire_ life, or anyone else's for that matter.

Sheridan fainted.

With a crash, he fell to the floor, out cold. Toms, who had been in the crows-nest as regimented, caught sight of him and stood, gaping for a moment before quickly grabbing hold of the rigging and sliding down to peer curiously at the unconscious man. The crowd also noticed and hurried over to gawp in wonder. One of them detected the scroll of paper and picked it up. The man's eyes widened as he saw what was on it and leapt back, throwing it to the ground where it innocently lay, showing the rest of Sheridan's 'inner circle' the mark it was bearing…

Merlin watched with glee as every one of them began muttering prayers and even held their arms up as crosses to protect themselves from the homemade curse. Everything was going splendidly!

A thumping of footsteps announced the arrival of Brun and his men. The Captain strode over, two burly sailors right behind him, backing him up. Merlin deemed it safe to come out from his hiding place how, and received several gasps and looks of loathing from the 'inner circle' of whom were being tied up by the faithful men in the crew. He just smiled smugly at them and folded his arms as Sheridan was hauled to his feet. An especially bright sailor who had a bucket handy, sloshed the cold water over the unconscious man, and Sheridan woke up with a start. The first person he saw was Merlin, and the young warlock could not help but raise an aloof eyebrow at the sight of his utterly outraged expression.

"Sheridan," Brun began, stepping forward, "for traitorous crimes against me, the captain of this ship, I hereby sentence you and your men to be thrown overboard where you will hopefully sink to Davy Jones's Locker, never to be smelt again."

Several people looked confused by this last remark, but pulled the snarling Sheridan and his men to the edge of the ship nevertheless. Just before he was hurled over the side, Sheridan cast Merlin a look of deepest hatred. He did not know how Merlin had escaped, nor did he know how he had found out about the mutiny, but one thing he was quite certain of, and that was how he would get his sweet, sweet revenge. His thoughts were quite evident in his eyes, and Merlin should have been frightened, had he known what the future held, but his sprits were too high to be dampened and he just smirked as Sheridan was thrown over the side of the ship, quickly followed by his men.

While the faithful remainders of the crew returned to their work, looking quite pleased with themselves, the young warlock stood, hands on the guardrail, watching the man who had made his stay on the ship a living nightmare, drift out of his life. No more pain or humiliation. No more hatred and loneliness. At last, he was free of him.

Maybe now, Brun would take him to a dock where he could somehow find his way back to Camelot…back to his friends…back to those who cared about him…back to Arthur.

Walking up to the captain, Merlin cleared his throat. Brun turned around and peered at him from behind his spectacles.

"I was wondering," Merlin began, "now that Sheridan is gone, you could take me to a dock so I can go home. You know I don't belong here."

"Well, we're going to make port in a few days," Brun said. "We're going to Stormwake docks, it's near the mountains of Berwyn. It's where I'm heading for. I can drop you off there."

"Berwyn?" Merlin inquired, curious, though unable to stop a grin from growing onto his face as the realization that he would soon be back on land and one step closer to Camelot dawned on him.

Brun looked rather edgy upon hearing his question, and avoided looking him in the eye.

"Err…it's nowhere special…" he mumbled as a reply. "Anyway, there are more important matters to discus. Rather recently I find myself with an awful lot of paperwork and so have little time to clean up after myself. How do you fancy a promotion to my cabin boy?" Merlin opened his mouth, but Brun went on before he could speak, "Oh, good! You can start immediately! First I want you to alphabetically organize all the books in my study, and then you can do the same to all the papers that are…sort of…around…somewhere. After that, you can come and see me and I'll give you something more to do, yes?"

Merlin nodded. He couldn't do much else.

"You know," the Captain continued. Merlin stared at him in horror as he realised he was about to launch into one of his tales again. "I had this cabin boy once, a long time ago it was, actually. He was pretty dreadful; let me tell you! On his first day, he managed to spill rum all over my desk, drop my entire collection of miniature pig warriors over the side of the ship, accidentally murder a parrot and…well…I'm not telling you last one…but he was terrible. Anyway, after I discovered his uses, of which there weren't many, I sent him to work for a cousin of mine. I really couldn't put up with him anymore and I've always wanted to get my own back on my cousin for stealing my favourite eye patch. Anyway, a few days after that, I was sent word that my cousin – wait, where are you going?"

Merlin, who had tried to creep off, groaned inwardly, and dismally made his way back to the Captain.

"So, as I was saying, a few days after that, I was sent word that my cousin had been disfigured by a cutlass his cabin boy had dropped. So, unless you want to end up chopping peoples feet off," Brun pointed a finger at Merlin like a pistol and waggled it warningly, "I suggest you do a good job of those papers. Now, off you go! I want them done now!"

Trying to recover from this newest ramble, Merlin dazedly made his way back to Brun's cabin, which the Captain was designating.

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******Wasn't Merlin amazing last night? :D It had me in stitches half the time, and the other half was spent swooning over a very very shirtless Arthur, ****and a poor...helpless...Colin Morgan...on his knees...exhausted...dusty...dirty...and ludicrously sexy...after trying to stop a wedding… *drooling all over keyboard* **


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Right, I just want to say that I've had a simply _fantastic _day. There, now you know. **

**Thanks goes to Loopstagirl, Viridus Lupus, Isis the Sphinx, Krox1, RandomCheesecake, Altaira, Anonymous Sister of the Author, lttlbrat93, enigma-kar, Scribbles111, and CrayonsPink for reviewing! :D**

**And a special thanks to Loopstagirl for the magnificence of this chapter. ^^**

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Merlin stretched his aching back gratefully; glad to be able to stand fully upright again. Not that he was complaining. After the last few weeks, this was nothing. Being Brun's cabin boy certainly had some advantages. No longer was he the scullery boy, made to do every job that Sheridan could think off. No longer spending every waking moment in fear of what was about to happen. With his escape from the brig and saving Brun from the mutiny, he had escaped the horror of the last few weeks.

However, whilst his physically injuries may have been healing thanks to the respite from the almost daily beatings and his mind was once again becoming stronger now that he was able to eat and sleep more regularly, Merlin was feeling worse than ever. Although tidying through Brun's belongings was easy work for him, it was too familiar for him to be happy. Memories of doing exactly the same for Arthur were plaguing him at every turn, making the hole in his heart grow bigger. He was missing the arrogant prat more than he would ever admit, and being back on familiar turf when it came to work was making it even harder.

The young warlock sighed as he observed his surroundings, noting how much tidier they now were. The cabin had been a state. Brun seemed to be too distracted to bother doing any type of cleaning at all, leaving it all to his new cabin boy. The cupboard in the corner was next, now that the drawers in the desk were finished.

Crossing the room, Merlin glumly opened the cupboard door. His suspicions had been right; it was a tip. Even Arthur's had not been this bad. Bending down to pick up a stray shirt, Merlin froze, feeling as if his very blood was freezing. Moving almost as if he was in slow motion, he slowly moved the shirt away further, revealing fully the object that lay beneath.

As soon as he confirmed what it was, Merlin dropped the shirt as if it had stung him, and leapt backwards from the cupboard. Sinking into a crouch, Merlin wrapped his arms around his skinny figure, rocking himself backwards and forwards.

It could not be here. They had destroyed it. Hell, he had even _died _to try and save Arthur from it. It was not possible for it to turn up here. But through the raging turmoil that was his mind, something was registering common sense. They had been certain that Brun had died; yet here he was. The bumbling man, who had taken great delight in taking himself and Arthur fishing, was now commissioning people like Sheridan to press-gang crew for the ship. And something that Merlin believed to be destroyed was now sitting in the cupboard of the very ship that he was on.

Almost subconsciously, Merlin ran his hand over the wound on his arm. Being back in the presence of the cube was enough to make it hurt, even if it was all just psychological.

Snapping out of his horrified daze, Merlin ran his eyes over the cabin, looking for _anything_ that he could use to destroy the accursed thing. He knew only too well of the power that lay within, waiting to be unleashed in a single action. Merlin shuddered as he imagined Nimueh and whoever else was trapped in that cube, hell bent on returning to life. There was no telling what harm they could do.

Hopelessness washed over him as he realised that there was nothing he could use. Turning towards the door, determined to find something, Merlin paused. Just visible under a pile of documents that looked like maps, a handle of an old knife was pointing out.

Smiling in relief, Merlin crossed the room and grasped the handle. Ironically, it fitted his palm perfectly, as if it had been made for him and this purpose. Taking the knife in both hands, Merlin brought it hovering over the cube. Just as he was about to bring it down, something stopped him. This cube was magical, powerfully magical. An ordinary knife probably would not destroy it, but the warlock knew a trick that might just change that…

Closing his eyes to help his concentration, Merlin delved deep into himself, searching for the right spell. At last he found it, and, muttering under his breath, he could see the blade of the knife change colour even through his closed lids. Opening them a fraction, Merlin grinned when he saw that the knife was a deep blue colour, looking both beautiful and powerful at the same time.

Raising his arm once again, Merlin brought the knife higher and higher, readying himself to bring it down on the object that had caused both him and his friend so much grief.

His arm began the descent in a graceful curve, the power held within him all too evident in the glowing of the knife. The blade got closer and closer, almost touching the top of the cube. Merlin could feel the tip of the blade meet the resistance of the cube, and so pushed harder, when something suddenly grasped his arm.

His eyes snapping open, Merlin saw another hand gripping the arm holding the knife, directly over the wound in his arm. The moment that his concentration was distracted, the knife faded back to its normal colour. Merlin only hoped that whoever had stopped him had not noticed the display of magic. As his arm was forcefully pushed away, he could not help but cry out, both with pain and frustration. He was so close to destroying the thing for good. Tracing the hand back to the owner, Merlin was surprised to see Brun standing there, looking ferocious. Keeping one hand gripped on the young warlock's limb, Brun used the other to scoop up the cube, and cradled it in the crook of his arm, the way that one would a newborn baby.

"You have to let me destroy it," Merlin told him, his voice pleading. "You don't understand, this cube, this _thing_ is evil. If you release the spirits inside, evil sorcerers will be able to return. I can destroy it, let me."

"I trusted you," Brun responded, his voice hard and with an icy edge to it that made him sound far from his normal self. "I thought you were helping me…but all along you were working with those _traitors_, weren't you? You wanted the power of the cube all to yourself, just like them!"

"No! I'm not like them at all. Please, just listen to me! You have to destroy it! Whatever it's told you, it's lying!"

Angrily, Brun tightened his grip on Merlin's arm and proceeded to drag him out of the cabin and up onto the deck, ignoring both the warlock's struggles and his cries of pain when his nails bit into the already damaged flesh.

Those who remained loyal to the captain watched in amazement as the boy that he had so recently promoted was roughly hauled up on deck. With a strong arm, Brun threw Merlin at the two nearest sailors, who immediately caught hold of his arms, leaving him trapped.

"Please, Brun. You said that you trusted me. Trust me again now. Don't belive it. Let me destroy the cube!" Merlin begged the captain, pleading with both his voice and his eyes. This could not happen. Not again. But when he saw Brun's eyes harden in defiance, he knew full well that it was happening. If that cube could manage to persuade Arthur to keep it and try to open it, then there was no way someone like Brun would be able to resist.

"It has promised me a new life, everything that I ever wanted. All I have to do is get to the destination and follow its instructions. It did mention about someone returning, but it is going to give me my life back, the life that you and that prince of yours destroyed when you sunk my ship! Men, throw him over board."

"What?" Merlin cried, horror struck.

Even as he spoke, the sailors began to drag him towards the edge of the deck. The waves could be heard lapping against the side, as if eager for its new victim. Fighting hard against his captors, Merlin was all too aware of just how weak and skinny he was compared to the burly sailors. His struggles were all in vain, and despite his resistance; Merlin soon felt his feet begin to leave the floor, as his back slammed into the railings on the side.

Before he had a chance to plead once more with Brun, Merlin felt himself leave the ship completely. His last view was of the captain, still cradling the cube in one hand, a look of wild delight on his face. Then the warlock hit the waves.

He had no time to comprehend what was happening, and Merlin suddenly found himself inhaling a mouthful of salty water. Spluttering his way to the surface, he realised with horror just how far already the waves had already carried him. Even though he had only been in the water for minutes at the most, the ship was far away on the horizon, any hope of a rescue going with it.

Merlin mentally shook himself as another wave crashed over his head, submerging him once again in the icy depths of the ocean. It would not help to think like that, he had to stop Brun from opening that cube. What should he do? What would Arthur say?

Choking yet again on the salty water, Merlin could feel the coldness starting to penetrate him. Yet, his mind still on Arthur, Merlin felt that the cold was not only penetrating him from the outside, but the inside as well. His heart was turning cold with each passing moment that he thought of Arthur. He knew all too well what the prince would say. He would call him an idiot for not realising that the cube had a hold over Brun, and that he should have fought off the sailors.

What was it he would say about drowning? It did not seem that long ago that the two of them were doing just that, the day that the cube come and ruined their lives.

Swirling in the cold water, Merlin felt himself turned over once, twice, three times before his head finally broke the surface again. Gulping down the air, Merlin knew that it was not only salty seawater that was on his face – tears had also joined them.

_No_, Merlin thought fiercely to himself. Arthur had promised that nothing would happen to him and Merlin still believed that, despite everything he had gone through. The prince would be on his way right at this very moment and then…

Then what? He was all alone in the middle of an ocean, fighting every second to keep his head above the waves that were determined to keep him under. There was no way that anyone, not even Arthur, would be able to find him out here.

With a sense of utter hopelessness, Merlin did not fight the next wave that washed over him. He would not even get to say goodbye to the prince, something that almost annoyed him. After everything that they had been through together, was it not fair that he should at least get to say goodbye? Arthur had been allowed to say goodbye the first time that he had 'died'. Why could he not now?

The waves, however, had other ideas. With increasing intensity, they crashed continuously over the warlock, each time knocking more precious oxygen from his lungs. The salt burnt the back of his throat. His eyes stung. He was cold. Brun was going to open the cube and Arthur would probably never find his body. In Merlin's heart, he had already given up, moments before the water sent him spiralling down into the realms of unconsciousness.

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Pain. That was the first thing that registered in Merlin's water logged mind. _Its not fair_, he thought to himself. How come even death hurt? Yet with each throb, Merlin found himself becoming more and more aware of his surroundings. A cool and refreshing breeze was playing across his face; water could be felt gently lapping at his feet. But yet, the water stopped there. No longer was it submerging him, no longer was it stealing the valuable breath from his aching body.

With an agonising groan, Merlin forced himself to open his gritty, stinging eyes, half expecting to see a white light greeting him. However, although the light was so bright that it immediately made him scrunch his eyes shut again, it was not white. It was the light from the sun. Even as the thought lodged itself in his mind, Merlin could feel the warming rays start to dry him. It was such a pleasant feeling that Merlin decided there and then that maybe death was not so bad. He was so tired that the warmth of the sun was sending him into a gentle slumber.

His body, however, had other ideas. Screaming in protest at lying on something extremely hard, Merlin finally opened his eyes again. Squinting in the bright light, he realised with a start that he was not dead at all. Not unless death came in the form of a deserted stretch of land, surrounded by the sea in any direction that he chose to look in. Struggling, the young warlock finally managed to sit up. Although he felt like it may be a relief to be dead – fate, it seemed, had other plans for him…

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**Just thought I'd mention that there will be a bit of Arthur in the next update. But all is not as it seems... **

**Next chapter up soon! :D**


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Duh-duh-DUUH! The bashing is back! But not for long - Merlin gets a nice chapter fairly soon. I'm not totally evil. :)**

**Thanks goes to Isis the Sphinx, enigma-kar, lttlbrat93, RandomCheesecake, Scribbles111, Loopstagirl, Viridus Lupus, Moonhera, Altaira, Krox1, CrayonsPink, and Anonymous Sister of the Author for the fantastic reviews! Thank you so so SO much! I cannot tell you just how happy it makes me to have so many reviews! :D If we keep going at this rate, we'll soon be at three hundred! :0**

**I hope you like this chapter! ^.^ Enjoy. **

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Feeling groggy, Merlin painfully rolled onto his stomach and pulled himself up onto his knees. Now able to see better, he found the beach soon thinned away as it reached the foot of a densely packed forest. The trees towered over him as he gingerly climbed to his feet. Disorientated, he swayed with a sudden loss of balance. The world began to spin, and colours swam before him, merging into one. He blinked and closed his eyes tightly; listening to the sound of his heart throbbing in his ears before opening them again to find the wild blur had stopped. His head pounded and every muscle protested as he took a tentative step forwards. His vision began to darken again, but he refused to let it consume him.

The sun was beating down on his back, and he knew he would get heat stroke if he did not move into the shade. He staggered towards the trees, brushing invisible objects out of the way with an outstretched arm. Eventually, his hand came to rest on the cool trunk of a tree, and, leaning his back against it, he sunk to the floor. He ran his fingers in between the lush, green blades of grass; it was soft against his hands, and he stole a few moments to revel in the touch of the earth. He took several deep breaths of fresh, clean air. It was vastly different from the smoky kitchen on the ship, and it felt like ice slipping down his dry throat.

For a long time he sat there, slowly trying to regain his strength.

Bringing to his ears a beautiful sound, the waves folded out onto the golden sand. The tide came in, and then left again, and the sun began to creep across the sky. Just before sunset, when the shadows were at their longest, Merlin stirred from where he had been sleeping. He had not slept like that in weeks, and he was grateful he had been allowed dreams that temporarily took away the pain in his body. He still did not feel strong enough to stand, so he stayed there, leaning against the tree, unconsciously ghosting a finger over the gash on the palm of his hand.

But that's when he saw him.

Some way off, appearing around the side of a tall oak, looking just the same as ever, a familiar figure, making no sound at all, came out and stood there, silent.

Merlin thought it was a dream. It had to be. He could not come. It was impossible. But yet there he was – Arthur – just standing there, his face half hidden in shadow but a smile Merlin had sorely missed still visible.

The young warlock tried to call out; call for help, but no sound other than a strangled croak escaped his lips.

"Ar-Arthur?"

The once motionless figure burst into life. Merlin just had time to stand up before Arthur reached him and pulled him into his arms, holding him in a tight hug.

"You came," Merlin whispered.

"Of course I came."

He wasn't sure whether it was emotion or exhaustion that did it, but Merlin suddenly felt overwhelmed and his legs buckled from beneath him. The last thing he saw was Arthur bending over him, still holding him close, concern written across his face.

_Bang_.

Merlin's eyes opened. It was night. A cool breeze was blowing across his face and stars sparkled in the sky.

He was alone.

He looked around.

No one.

Both cold and upset caused him to begin to shake. Had it all been some kind of dream? He felt miserable, wretched. At that point, Merlin broke. He began to cry.

What happened next was something he _really_ did not need. There was a shout, some kind of an alarm. Merlin was sobbing too hard to hear it, and he did not notice the men that emerged from the trees like liquid shadows until they were almost upon him.

"Is the little boy still crying?" a voice simpered from above, a voice the young warlock slumped against the tree knew only too well.

Slowly, he lifted his head. He was not surprised to see Sheridan and his men standing over him, leering. He was surprised, however, to learn that they were alive. He had thought they might have drowned when they had been thrown overboard. Unbeknownst to him, they had suffered a similar fate to himself; washed up on the same beach. But, unlike him, they had managed to group together again, and had constructed a makeshift camp in the forest. A lookout had spotted Merlin, heard him when he had begun to cry, and sounded the alarm.

Sheridan leant forward, sneering. Once upon a time he would have an expression full of mirth, but now it showed nothing but utter hatred. Instinct told Merlin to use his magic. He tried to conjure up a spell, but he was shocked to find he could not. It was like there was a wall in the way letting nothing through. He was too exhausted. He had no protection as Sheridan ordered two men to pull him to his feet.

"So…" he said, walking back and forth in front of Merlin, who was neither struggling nor trying to hold himself up, but instead just hanging there limply, tears still falling down his face. "You were thrown overboard, too…I'm not going to ask any questions…but it's rather fortunate you were, because now, you see, I can finally do what I couldn't before…there's no one here to save you…you're all alone and at my mercy… "

Merlin did not care that they were now probably going to kill him. As Sheridan continued to talk, the young warlock zoned out completely. He stared at the ground with lifeless eyes, his face blank. Only one thought plagued him. If he died now, here, today, then he would never be able to fulfil his destiny. He was supposed to protect Arthur. He could not let anyone stop him from doing that. If he, Merlin, was killed, then Arthur would be venerable to attack, and he would die; the king would have no heir, Camelot would collapse, anarchy would reign. It suddenly struck Merlin just how much the future relied on him, how much Arthur relied on him. He could not give up. Not now. Not ever.

He decided.

In a split second, with no warning or indication, he sprung into action. Twisting his arm, he jerked himself free from the men and bobbed under a floundering hand that tried to seize him. With a newfound strength, he bolted from the trees and out onto the moonlit washed sand. Cries of outrage followed him as he pelted away. Every time a wave crashed onto the beach and crept up to him, the young warlock's feet sent a shower of water up behind him.

He shot a look over his shoulder and was horrified to see Sheridan and his men only feet away. He sped up.

His lungs began to burn with a need for air and he gulped in more and more until he was gasping and causing his throat to sting. He was slowing down considerably now, and another glance over his shoulder showed him that Sheridan was almost within arms reach. Perhaps a change in tactic would throw them off. The forest was dark and almost a labyrinth it was so densely packed – he would be unseen there.

He swerved hard off to the left, and for a moment, he believed he was going to make it to the trees, but suddenly someone grabbed his ankle. He fell to the floor with a thump, sand and blood mingling in his mouth as a hand crushed his skull to the ground.

Immediately, his pursuers were upon him, pinning him down. Sheridan did not hesitate to come forward and lean over Merlin.

"I'm going to kill you," he said with scary frankness, venom dripping from his voice.

Everything went dark.

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**Ooo, a another cliffhanger! :0**

**Arthur's back in the next chapter, by the way... :)**


	21. Chapter Twenty

**And Arthur is back! :D Yay! I hope you like what he's getting up to in this chapter. I feel so naughty for tricking you all in the last! MUHAHAHAHA! But I promise there won't be any of that in the next two chapters, which are VERY important. *gasp* MORE SPOILERS!!! :0**

**Thanks goes to enigma-kar, lttlbrat93, Loopstagirl, Moonhera, Viridus Lupus, Anonymous Sister of the Author, Krox1, MoonlitIvy, Alaira, alhfiction, TheresNoPleasingYou, wobbles11, Isis the Sphinx, and CrayonsPink.**

**And special thanks to Sannepan for writing the second half of this chapter. :)**

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_BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!_

"Oh, not again…" Arthur groaned, pulling his pillow over his head, as Matilda and her early morning wake up call continued to sound from above like a vicious battle of saucepans.

His ears bleeding, Arthur pulled on some clothes and drowsily made his way onto the main deck. He was surprised when he discovered that the boat was docked up at a harbour, land only a few feet away. They must have made port while he was sleeping.

"Welcome to Stormwake docks!" John addressed the bleary eyed Arthur after Matilda had relinquished the war of noise. "This is where we leave you I'm afraid."

Arthur remembered John telling him a few days ago that they would drop him off at this dock, which was not far from the mountains of Berwyn, and he nodded before heading back to his cabin to begin packing the clothes and belongings that were strewn about the floor.

He was excited. Finally, he was one step closer to Merlin. All he had to do was hire a horse, ride to the mountains, and then somehow rescue his friend from the ship. And that would be easy with Excalibur on his side.

Arthur often found himself staring at the sword while polishing it, admiring how it glinted in the sun. He had practiced with it a few times above deck when he had had the time, using an old pillow tied to a pole as a target. The sword's balance was perfect, and it swung in his hands as though it were as light as a feather, thus making it easy to wield. He would have no problems cutting down anyone who tried to keep him away from Merlin.

He strapped the handsome sword to his belt, hitched the rucksack onto his back, and made his way out of the cabin again to where John, Matilda and Kaelan were waiting to say their farewells to him.

He had grown attached to this small seafaring family in his time on their ship and was extremely grateful to them, so made sure they knew how indebted he felt. Matilda even gave him a kiss on his cheek and there was a tear in Kaelan's eye – though he tried to hide it, embarrassed – as the prince set off down the pier, waving goodbye, rucksack on back.

It was dawn and therefore time for breakfast in Arthur's agenda, so he entered the town and made his way to the nearest pub and purchased a meal. After he had eaten, and thinking he should get to the mountains as soon as possible, he found himself a stable where a large man with a stubbly chin was reclining on an old barrel by one of the stalls. Arthur noticed, with some disgust, a thick, horse-like scent hanging around the man as he walked briskly up to him.

"I've come for a horse," he told him shortly, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the plangent stink.

"Well, why else would you be here?" the man replied rudely, sticking a finger in his ear, twisting it about, removing it with a 'pop' and then putting it into his mouth.

Arthur grimaced.

"Can you show me to a horse?" he asked, wishing to leave quickly.

"We're not open."

"I'm in a hurry!"

"Tough – we're not open."

"When will you be open?"

"Next week."

"NEXT WEEK???"

"Yes, next week. Now, if you don't mind, I was very busy, so beat it."

Arthur stared, revolted, before turning smartly on his heels and sailing out of the stable.

Busy indeed! A week indeed!

He crashed heavily onto a crate just outside the doors of the stable and scowled at a passing chicken, which eyed him carefully before pecking a stray strap on his rucksack, finding it unappetizing and strutting off again. The prince watched it go, glowering.

He wondered whether he should steal a horse; he had seen many in the stalls he had passed; it would not be too difficult to sneak in a take one…but if he broke the law, then he'd have the authority on his tail…and then he would never get to the mountains…

Leaning his head in his hands, he sighed and did not notice a shady figure sideling up to him.

"Oi – you," the bloke poked him hard in the shoulder with a small dagger, "gimme your wallet."

"Get lost," Arthur rose to his feet, towering over the man, and cast him a glare.

"Wrong answer…" The guy motioned behind him and five more men appeared from around the corner, all brandishing knives.

"I really wouldn't if I were you," Arthur told them breezily, casting them all a disinterested look.

The prince quickly realized that they were not the types to take a warning when they heard one, because they now began to approach him, hopping agilely from one foot to another, waving their knives. He took position in front of his rucksack that he had dumped on the floor to keep it protected from one of the men who had just tried to grab it.

A few of the thieves jumped back as he drew Excalibur with one, smooth pull, but some of them held their ground. He loosened his shoulders, tensed his legs and held the sword tight in his hand – all the things he had been taught to do.

He did not wait for them; he made the first move. If their leader went down, the others would most likely follow – a fact that Arthur knew well – so he went straight for the first of the men he had seen. He clearly had not been expecting Arthur to make the first move, and reeled for a moment as the prince rammed into him, before recovering, straightening up and flicking his dagger around his fingers.

"Nice sword you've got there," he said, eyeing Excalibur. "We'll be taking that too…"

Arthur twisted his wrist around, swinging Excalibur to show his skill in sword fighting and to perhaps scare the thieves. But they were not easily intimidated; they seemed to be even more interested in the sword now he had showed it. Before the thieves could do anything else, however, Arthur attacked once more.

This time, the leader saw him coming and stood ready to defend himself. He had bent his knees slightly, and jumped to the side as Arthur hurtled towards him. The prince missed and almost tumbled to the floor.

"Why have a sword and not use it? Better give it to us before you get hurt, boy."

Arthur's eyes narrowed and he swung the sword again.

"If that's what you want…" he muttered, and jumped forward to attack. The thieves did not have any weapons other than their knives, and the leader was only carrying a small dagger, but they did know how to handle what they did have. While Arthur attacked, all five of them struck back.

From the outside it looked like a complex tangled mess of arms, legs and blades flickering in the sun. However, it was a more organized than appearances let on. Arthur was in the centre of it, trying to defend himself from the six men who had him surrounded and tried to stab him every time he wasn't looking. None of them succeeded, though of course.

Arthur ducked when somebody tried to cut him, and managed to crawl away between all the legs. The men quickly discovered their victim was gone, and turned around to remain in visual with the prince. Arthur was standing just a couple of feet away, waiting for the men to attack him again. This time the leader took control of the situation.

"You wait here. He's mine," he said and stepped forward to face his victim. "It seems you're able to use a sword! Where did you learn it all – from your daddy? I bet you're a daddies boy!"

"Shut it!" Arthur hissed through gritted teeth, gripping the hilt of his sword even tighter.

"Oh, look! It speaks!" The leader turned away to laugh with his mates. Suddenly, he turned back and ran towards Arthur, holding the dagger in front of him to attack. Arthur was not surprised whatsoever, and was prepared to take the blow. With Excalibur, he withstood it. He fought the leader all the way to a wall, so the man's back was against it.

"Do you yield?" Arthur asked, the tip of his sword dangerously close to the man's throat. The leader did not answer; he instead swayed his dagger, trying to hit Arthur. With one kick, the dagger flew away; far out of reach, and Arthur pressed the side of Excalibur against the man's neck.

"Do you yield?" he asked again, and he saw blood trickling down his sword.

The man screamed with anger. He managed to pull a hidden knife out of his pocket, and lunged it at Arthur.

Excalibur seemed to slide into the shoulder as if it was made of soft butter. The man gasped for air, and slumped to the ground. Arthur pulled back his sword and turned to the other five men who all stood next to each other, staring at the man who had just killed their leader. They had completely frozen and the idea of running away never entered their minds. They were as submissive as a couple of sheep. Suddenly, Arthur had an idea.

"Listen!" he said. "I had no intention of harming any of you, but you made it difficult for yourselves. LISTEN!" he yelled when the men started to disagree. "If you don't do what I tell you, I will make sure you won't live to see a new dawn!" He knew he was being harsh, but it was necessary. "And if you succeed in the way I want, maybe there will be a reward."

With the last statement, the eyes of the thieves started to twinkle. Anything for money…

While Arthur kept a wary eye on their weapons, he asked the men to come closer and listen to the plan he had in mind. He was not going to tell them the reason why, but he was in need of a horse.

"Just inside of this stable, there's a guy who rents horses, but he claims he won't be open until next week."

One man dared to open his mouth and speak.

"And you want us to go in there and get a horse for you?"

Immediately, Arthur raised his sword and pointed it at the man.

"Silence! Do not speak before you're asked to! But yes, that's what I was thinking of. I don't care how you do it, just get me a horse." He still had to show he was in charge; and the guys seemed smart enough to figure something out.

After some planning between the thieves themselves, they nodded at Arthur and walked into the stable. The same man who had spoken before spoke again.

"We need a horse," he said without further ado to the large man on the barrel. The man did not put his finger in his ears this time, but scratched the top of his bald head and then checked his nails for anything edible.

Arthur, who was standing just outside the stable, peering through a hole in the door, noticed that the thieves did not wince at the smells or the strange habit of the man. The thieves themselves did not smell all that good, though…

"Why does everybody keep coming in here for horses? I guess you want five of them? Can't you count? How many are there in this stable?" the man replied grouchily, gesturing at the three horses that were in their separate stalls.

"Actually, we only need one," the thief said, cracking his knuckles with his other hand. The man started to laugh.

"What? One horse for the five of you?"

"You heard me." The cracking sound doubled. The thief behind him had joined in, but it did not seem to bother the man. "We want a horse."

"No. We're closed."

"Excuse me?" Suddenly a knife flashed in front of his eyes. A bead of sweat ran down his face, but the man still tried to act like nothing was going on.

"We're closed?" His voice sounded exceedingly small. The knife turned into five knifes and a dagger.

"Maybe you still didn't hear me correctly. We want a horse and we want one now – not tomorrow, not next week. Now," the thief said as he cleaned his nails with a knife, like he didn't care.

The man swallowed hard. He could handle the boy who came in earlier, but five grown man were just a little too much…

Arthur grinned as he saw that the guy seemed to have shrunk a couple of sizes.

"Take that one." The man pointed at one of the stalls where a horse was standing. "It's the best one I've got! Take it! Don't hurt me! Please!"

That was Arthur's cue. He walked into the stables; his head up high as he led the horse to the door and climbed onto it. The man's jaw dropped as he recognized the prince and he started to protest, but a knife pressed against his cheek quickly silenced his objections.

"Thanks a lot, men. I said I was going to repay you if it all worked out well, and it did, so..." Arthur pulled a couple of coins out of his pocket and tossed one to each man. They all caught it eagerly, and even though it was not much, they still seemed happy with it.

Arthur rode out of the stables, leaving the men with their earned riches, and finally went back on his way to find Merlin.

Soon he had left the harbour behind him, and he found himself with two options. He needed to reach the mountains as soon as possible. The road in front of him was split into a fork and there were two different ways to go. With the first, there was the road that would bring him further into the land, where he was definitely going to pass other villages. And the second was a road which led to the beach, where there were no more places to stop until the next harbour.

Arthur quickly made up his mind. He was already missing the sea breeze caressing his hair and face, even though it had only been a short time that he had lived at sea. Maybe the sound of the braking waves could help him clear his mind so he could think; therefore he turned his horse, and took the left path. He could already smell the salty water.

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**Does anyone know who might be on the beach at this present point in time...? ;)**

**Ooo, I wonder if we can get to 300 reviews? THAT WOULD BE SO AWESOME!!! :D **


	22. Chapter TwentyOne

**Who saw Merlin last night? It was so incredible! The "almost man-hug" at the end was SO CUTE! That was definitely some of the best Merlin & Arthur banter I've seen in a long, LONG time! :D Ben Vanstone does all the best episodes. **

**Ooo, this is a very special chapter. You'll see why when you read it. :) Enjoy.**

**Thanks goes to Loopstagirl, Krox1, Isis the Sphinx, unicorndiva, elhfiction, RandomCheesecake, wobbles11, CrayonsPink, Anonymous Sister of the Author, Jellyhair, lttlbrat93, Altaira, enigma-kar, and Scribbles111 for reviewing! :D **

**And without further ado, let the chapter begin! **

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Arthur nudged the horse into a gentle trot as he reached the beach. The wind was definitely stronger here; he could feel it whipping through his hair. Although the ferocity of the blustery weather seemed to suggest an incoming storm, something that the colour of the clouds also seemed to concur, it was not unpleasant. The feeling of his hair blowing back from his face gave Arthur a sense of freedom, as well as reminding him of the life at sea that he had become so accustomed to over the last few weeks.

Closing his eyes to help clear his mind, the prince did not see the motionless figure almost lying in his path. It was only when the horse sidestepped, nickering nervously, that he opened his eyes. Patting the horse on the side of her neck, Arthur spoke in low, soothing tones, before slipping from the saddle. He knew that if a horse was anxious, then there was something to be anxious about – years of hunting had taught him that.

Walking slowly round to the horse's head, Arthur let his eyes roam the beach, searching for the hidden danger. Frowning, he turned back to the horse, wondering what was going through the beast's mind. He could see nothing wrong.

In fact, it was only until the prince suddenly found himself face down on the sand that he discovered what had spooked his mount. Spitting out the mouthful of grit that had somehow worked its way into his mouth, Arthur turned where he was sitting, curious to as what could have tripped him.

What he saw made his breath catch in his throat.

A boy was lying in the middle of the beach, unconscious, maybe even dead. His body showed the signs of obvious and serious abuse; his exposed torso made that much clear. His hair was dripping wet, black strands slicked to his forehead with salty rain, something that puzzled the prince momentarily when the thought flickered through his mind: the position that he was in surely would have meant the elements would have dried him. But even through all of that, there was still something else that caused Arthur's heart to pound painfully in his chest, making it feel like it was about too jump straight through his throat and out of his mouth.

He had found Merlin.

But was he too late? His breath coming in short, almost frantic gasps, Arthur crawled across the ground until he was level with his servant. After all that searching, part of Arthur wished that he would wake up and that it would be another of his many dreams about finding his friend, for the reason that it would mean Merlin would not be lying on some beach, clearly fighting for his life.

As Arthur stared, the full extent of Merlin's injuries became apparent to him. The prince had seen injuries before; he had experienced some of the worst possible to live through himself, but the state that he had so suddenly found his best friend in took Arthur's breath away. Merlin's chest was littered with bruises, revealing that whomever had done this to him had almost certainly been trying to beat him to death; there were smatterings of grazes covering the delicate skin; and in addition to all this, Arthur spotted a long gash on his friend's right hand. It looked infected and was also plastered in sand, which was slowly dwindling away with the wind that was blowing furiously at this point.

As the prince sat there and simply stared, too shocked to do anything else, Merlin began to stir. As much as he longed for the welcoming darkness to come and take him away from the pain, it would not oblige. His throat was burning from going so long without water; his body ached and hurt in every way that he could imagine and plenty of ways that he did not want to visualize; his eyes stung from where he had been held under the salty water for so long, when Sheridan had tried to drown him, laughing all the while. But yet, the darkness would still not let him lose himself.

Opening his stinging eyes a fraction; Merlin could just about focus on the figure sitting over him. The golden hair was askew in odd angels, obviously from where the prince had run his hand through his hair distractedly. His face looked horrified, but also relieved at the same time. With a great effort, Merlin looked away. It was not real, just another of his dreams.

"Merlin?" a squashed voice whispered through the air, almost cracking with emotion. Un-hushed tears could be heard in the voice, making Merlin look back again. The Arthur he had imagined had sounded strong. Why did this one not?

"Come on, Merlin," the voice continued, sounding like it was about to break. "Don't you dare give up on me now! I need you..."

Even as Merlin slowly blinked, Arthur moved his position. Carefully lifting Merlin's head, he rested it on his lap, cushioning it from the hard ground. Merlin had opened his eyes, he had moved, the prince was sure of that much, yet the servant did not seem to be acknowledging his presence, causing him greater cause for concern than before. The external injuries were obvious, but what if there was something wrong _inside_ of Merlin. Arthur had not a clue about how to look after him – the boy was so badly hurt.

"Ar...Art...Arthur?" the cracked voice was barely audible over the wind, yet Arthur nearly jumped for joy. The voice betrayed how much Merlin had gone through since he had last heard it, but the fact that he could once again hear it made Arthur smile gently down at the head supported in his lap.

"It's me, Merlin. I'm here. Everyth…everything is going to be all right." Arthur swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. His eyes felt suspiciously watery, but he was sure that it was only the spray coming from the sea.

"Is that really you?" Merlin croaked, every word an agonising effort. It almost broke Arthur's heart to see how weak he was.

"Of course. Who else would it be?" he replied lightly, trying desperately to hide the emotion in his voice. Merlin would see straight through it though. He always did.

To Arthur's alarm, Merlin's eyes were slowly drifting shut again; he was clearly losing the battle against consciousness.

"Stay with me, Merlin! Come on, stay with me!" Arthur told him, panicking. By now, he could no longer blame the sea for the hot tears that he found leaking out of his eyes of their own accord. He could not remember the last time that he had cried; yet his clumsy manservant had once again slipped through his defences. With one final effort, Merlin whispered something so faint that Arthur had to bend forwards to hear it.

"You came." With those words, Merlin's eye fully shut again and Arthur felt his body go limp as he fell back into the realm of unconsciousness.

Tears running down his cheeks, Arthur sat there in shock for a few moments. He had never imagined finding Merlin like this. He had always imagined some sort of light heartened 'damsel in distress' moment, something that they could joke about afterwards, not a situation where there may not _be _an afterwards.

The way the icy cold wind was whistling around Arthur made him realise that he needed to move Merlin. Although he was anxious not to cause him any more pain, it looked like a storm was on its way in, and lying on the exposed beach was not the best place to be.

Hooking his hands under Merlin's arms, Arthur drew them both to their feet, trying to be as gentle as possible. What he saw made his blood boil; Merlin's back was just as bad as his front. Swearing under his breath, Arthur vowed to get revenge on whoever had done this to his friend, no matter what it took.

Afterwards, Arthur could not have said how he did it, but somehow, he managed to get them both up onto the horse and used his knees to guide it into the forest, his arms too pre-occupied with stopping the unconscious form falling off. When he deemed that they were far enough into the trees, the prince slipped from the horse and carefully lowered Merlin to the ground. Shrugging off his jacket, he draped it over his friend, aware of quite how small and vulnerable he was. The poor boy seemed so fragile, and it struck the prince at just how...small he was.

With Merlin as comfy as the prince knew how to make him, he then turned to the problem of lighting a fire. Making do with what small branches and twigs that were lying around the immediate area, Arthur set about constructing them. He knew that they did not make ideal firewood, but he was not partial to the idea of leaving Merlin by his own while he went to get more wood, so made do. After a few failed attempts, he managed to get the fire burning.

Gently shuffling Merlin closer to the warmth, Arthur once more resumed his previous position, the crook of his knee a pillow for Merlin's head. Almost automatically, he found himself running his fingers through the black hair, muttering soothingly to the unconscious boy. Arthur had no idea if Merlin could hear him, but it reassured the prince if nothing else. It at least made him feel like he was doing something to help, even if that was not the case.

Staring into the dancing flames, Arthur felt exhausted. The emotional shock of finding Merlin had started to settle in, yet the prince was not going to give into sleep. He was determined that he would sit there all night without moving if that was what it took. By all that he held dear, Arthur was going to make Merlin better. Then he was going to go after whoever had done this, and make them pay in the worst way that he could think of. Whatever it took.

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**So, what did you think? :D**


	23. Chapter TwentyTwo

**Lashings of bromance in this chapter, LASHINGS of it. I hope it's all up to expectations! :)**

**Thanks goes to Viridus Lupus, Scribbles111, elhfiction, Anonymous Sister of the Author, Loopstagirl, Sannepan, CrayonsPink, archeress of silverbow, unicorndiva, Isis the Sphinx, Krox1, Dianne, Ohtar Vicky, wobbles11, sentarla, enigma-kar, lttlbrat93, Wileret, and MerlinStar for reviewing. I cannot tell you enough just how thankful I am to you all. There's no way I'd be able to continue writing without your support. :) Thank you. **

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Winking down at the sleeping earth, a lone star shone brightly in the inky black sky. The fire was crackling soothingly, and a sudden cold breeze was welcome to Arthur's hot face. He had moved closer to the flames a few hours ago when Merlin, whose head was still cradled in his lap, had become dangerously cold, and now the heat from the fire was making the prince uncomfortably warm. He shifted slightly, careful not to move the unconscious form in his arms, and stoked the fire again on account of it dying down a little.

As he blew on it to give it some life, a charred log lit up momentarily with red-hot embers, casting an orange glow upon Merlin's face. Arthur swallowed a lump in his throat. His friend was so pale; his breathing so shallow. The boy was all but dead, battling against the injuries to reclaim his life, and all the prince could do was sit there, keeping him warm by the fire and muttering to him, telling him it was going to be alright, probably to comfort himself more than anything.

He tucked his red jerkin further around Merlin's shoulders as the servant began to tremble again: he had done so at random for the past half hour. All he had was the coat – the only blanket he had brought, a scratchy woollen one, was under Merlin, keeping him dry from the damp forest floor – and it clearly was not enough for the boy, considering he was still quivering with cold.

Arthur decided to move into a more practical position, and shuffled closer to the trunk of a tree, where he leaned back and pulled Merlin toward him so his friend's head was resting against his chest. He threw the jacket that had gone astray over them both and wrapped his arms around Merlin, holding him tight.

_Come on, Merlin. You can't stay like this forever! You've got to wake up sooner or later...please get up...please don't die...not after all we've been through..._

His silent pleading took no effect on the unconscious servant, however, because Merlin did not move, but just lay there in his arms, his breathing becoming more and more vague. Arthur fought the sense of dread that Merlin was slowly slipping away from him, that there was nothing he could do to stop it, and instead tried to ease his anxiety by running a finger softly down the side of his friend's face, careful not to touch any of the scrapes and cuts that were scattered across the delicate skin.

At his touch, Merlin flinched a little and mumbled something in his sleep before tilting his head to rest on Arthur's shoulder, where, whether it had been intentional or not, he let it lie, relishing the warmth of his companion. Arthur's eyes began to well up with tears, which he quickly blinked away, telling himself it was nothing to get sensitive about. But, despite his best efforts, a single tear rolled down his cheek. He refused to let more fall and bit his lip to stop himself.

There was a tangle of emotions raging around inside of Arthur. There was relief that he had found Merlin, horror at finding him in such a state, and helplessness because he could do nothing to aid his recovery. The prince felt strange, like one moment he wanted to take hold of Merlin and shake him hard, ordering him to get better, and other times he just wanted to rock his friend back and forth in his arms, murmuring quiet words of comfort to him.

Mumbling something again, Merlin stirred a little. Arthur was surprised to see his eyes open a crack and look up at him, blinking. The servant seemed confused for a moment, and Arthur's stomach flipped horribly when he saw no recognition in Merlin's eyes. It soon past, however, and his friend's gaze reverted back to the familiar blue. Arthur smiled warmly, and Merlin, after a short pause, returned the gesture. They looked at each other for a moment, words unnecessary. However, Merlin was clearly struggling to stay awake, and seemed to be falling unconscious again.

"No, no, no, no, _no_," Arthur cried, springing up.

He grabbed his flask of water and quickly held it to Merlin's lips, trying to keep him awake with the cool liquid that began to trickle down his servant's throat. Merlin choked on it, and some went onto his bare chest, but most of it he managed to drink.

"There, that's it...take it easy..." the prince hushed, moving the flask away as Merlin began to wake up a little more. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine..." Merlin managed, and he was lying. "But...you – you came for me..."

"Well," Arthur said, with a noncommittal wave of his hand, "I know how much trouble you get yourself into when I'm not around to watch your back."

Merlin closed his eyes – Arthur thought he'd fallen asleep – but suddenly he opened them again, now looking at the sky. He saw the one star sparkling high up in the heavens and took a moment to gaze upon its splendour, before dragging his eyes back down to earth and the friend that was sitting before him. Merlin suddenly felt a sense of freedom that he had not felt for a long time. Arthur had found him; he was back with the other side of his coin, and at last he was safe.

Arthur was shifting uncomfortably, and Merlin wondered why, until he realized he was staring deeply into his friend's eyes without even blinking. He lowered his gaze and looked at the floor, unable to find any words to say. Unintentionally, Arthur saved him from the slightly awkward moment. The prince pulled his shirt collar back, revealing a familiar red neckerchief. Merlin's eyes widened with surprise as Arthur took off the scarf and pressed it into his hand, smiling.

"There, I even kept that old thing safe for you."

Merlin stared at the scarf. It was still warm in his hand as he ran his fingers over the material, incapable of stopping a grin from sliding onto his face. When he tried to knot it up around his neck where it belonged, however, he found his muscles had seized up and he could not even reach. Arthur's eyes softened, and he tied it up for him before sitting back on the leaf-carpeted ground, watching his friend contentedly. Merlin shot him a grateful glance and, being careful not to antagonize any of his injuries, made himself more comfortable against the tree.

"Did you bring a shirt along as well?" he asked, looking a little mischievous, and doing a remarkably good job considering a few hours ago he had been almost dead.

"Well, you could have one of mine but I think it would drown you."

"Yeah, I suppose it would."

There was a long silence, only broken by the occasional hoot of an owl or rustling of the trees and undergrowth where a badger was snuffling, apparently looking for any earthworms or small rodents that would be unfortunate enough to cross its path.

"I missed you, you know."

Caught off guard by this sudden statement, Merlin looked up. It was a rare occurrence, but sometimes Arthur would say something so vastly different from his usual self, it would both surprise Merlin and make his insides glow with pleasure.

"You did?"

"Yes, I did."

Not caring about the pain it caused him, Merlin smiled. Arthur, who had been gazing affectionately at his friend, looked away and began poking the fire again with a nearby stick; it seemed that being with his servant for even a few moments brought out the best of Arthur, and it frightened him.

Merlin, feeling an icy stream of air brush over the back of his neck, pulled the prince's red jacket tighter around himself to retain the little amount of heat emanating from his body. He suddenly felt his right hand throb as though an invisible fist had punched it hard. Bringing it into the flickering orange light, he looked down at his palm and saw the long gash that Sheridan had made had opened up and was now drizzling a little blood. He gripped it tight in the other hand to stop the blood flowing, but long streaks of scarlet soon began to escape from between his fingers, dripping on the ground and staining the leaves; a sticky red.

He was trying not to object to the pain, but the servant could not prevent a small, distressed whimper escaping his lips. Arthur heard and turned around. A shadow fell over Merlin, and the young warlock started, surprised, as Arthur knelt down beside him and took his injured hand in his own before carefully rubbing a damp cloth over the cut. When it was clean, the prince softly tied another strip of material around the wound, but instead of letting go, still held Merlin's hand tightly.

"Merlin..." he whispered, his eyes brimming with tears, "who did this to you?"

Merlin knew this question would have arisen sooner or later, and sighed, hanging his head. He would have preferred not to tell Arthur what had happened to him on The Emrys, fearing that the prince would not take it well. But he knew that it might be important, especially the part regarding the finding of the cube, which Merlin informed Arthur of first. The news that The NightmareChild had endured shocked the prince greatly, and Merlin had been made to swear it was true. Finally, Arthur accepted that it was not a lie or misunderstanding, and said he would think it over and try to come up with some kind of plan.

During the entire conversation, which was chiefly Merlin speaking and Arthur listening, the young wizard left out as much of Sheridan as possible. However, the prince then persisted to know how he had acquired so many injuries, and – though with extreme reluctance to re-live the bad memories – Merlin echoed the past few weeks to Arthur, whose eyes, as his servant went into further detail, began to grow fiery hot, smouldering with fury.

"Merlin," the prince said as soon as Merlin, who was now lying back against the tree, had finished, "I will _not_ let this go unpunished."

"Arthur, just leave –"

"No, Merlin, there is _no_ way I'm leaving it! Look at what he did to you! Do you honestly think I'd let anyone get away with doing that to my best –?" Arthur suddenly stopped.

"What?" Merlin looked up, somewhat interested.

"Nothing," Arthur mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

As the prince began poking the fire again, trying to act as if he was not aware of Merlin, who was now staring at him with fascination, the young warlock vaguely wondered how they had gone from mortal enemies to such good friends, perhaps even friends who would die for one another. He knew what Arthur had been about to say, and once upon a time, he would have thought the very notion that the prince saw him as a best friend ridiculous. Yet, Arthur had come so close to saying it...

Of course he never would say it – he wouldn't be Arthur if he did – but if that's what he thought...

Merlin suddenly felt warm inside, as if someone had just given him a hot drink. He tried to stand up, but his head immediately began to object; his vision clouded, so instead he slipped down onto the log upon which Arthur was sitting, and settled himself beside the prince, who desperately tried to ignore him with growing discomfort.

"Were you just about to call me your –?" Merlin began with curiosity, quite enjoying teasing the prince.

"Don't even think about it, _Mer_lin! Of course I wasn't! That would be absurd!" Arthur snapped, staring rigidly at the fire and beginning to stab it with such savage ferocity that several lumps of charred wood began to hurtle in Merlin's direction.

Despite being peppered with burning hot sparks, the young wizard was unable to stop a smile from forming on his lips. Arthur's feelings were so usually concealed, hidden and obscured by his arrogant nature, but in that one slip of the tounge, Merlin knew what he was to the prince.

"Well," he said quietly, so quietly it was almost a whisper, "you might not be able to say it, but..." he had to pause and take a deep breath. Arthur turned and looked at him, waiting nervously for him to finish the sentence, "...you're my best friend."

This thoroughly shocked the prince; in some small way he had expected it, but it still came as something of a surprise. Merlin's eyes harboured such trust and certainty, and Arthur found himself having trouble holding his gaze, like he was looking into a bright light. He felt so..._bad_ all of a sudden, like he wasn't worthy of Merlin's friendship. He could not even look Merlin in the eye, and turned away, back to the fire. He had absolutely no idea what to say, and an uncomfortable silence hung thickly in the air.

A rumble of thunder brought Arthur out of his reverie, in which he had been wondering how he should reply to Merlin, and as both boys looked up at the dark sky, a lightning bolt tore across the heavens, leaving a long rip in the black expanse. It started off gently at first, but the rain was soon pelting down hard, little drops of water shattering off the leaves and pattering on the forest floor.

With a feeble hiss, the fire went out, leaving the two boys shivering on the damp log, both soaked to the skin. The rain continuing to fall, Arthur got up and tried to revive the fire, but any hope of warmth was gone with the weather, and he gave up with a frustrated growl before sitting back down on the log again. Merlin had his coat, which he had pulled over his head to keep the rain off, so the prince was left with next to no cover, and he shortly found his rain-slicked hair dripping into his eyes and his boots squelching when he shuffled them on the ground.

He started when he felt Merlin edge closer, and turned to see his servant was holding the coat out for him while it was still over his head, inviting him to come underneath the makeshift shelter. The prince spared the dark sky a swift glance before accepting the offer and shifting under the coat with Merlin. He was soon glad he had done so, for the swollen clouds opened up only a few moments later; and the forest was alive with the sound of raindrops pelting down on the trees and bushes.

"You remember what you said earlier," Merlin's voice cut through the silence between them like a knife, "about missing me?"

"Yes..." Arthur replied carefully. What was Merlin going to spring upon him now?

"Well – I sort of – kind of – might have missed you, too..."

Smiling, Arthur looked away. Merlin _was_ an odd one.

Over by a tree, where Arthur had tethered it, the horse began to rear and buck on its hind legs, whinnying with fright as another flash filled the clearing with light for a split second, a roar of thunder soon following.

The storm was getting worse.

A cold shiver went up Arthur's spine, and he pulled the coat further over his head, trying to stop the icy beads of water from dripping onto his face. He was anxious about Merlin, however, as his friend was still injured and probably not strong enough to last the night if the temperature dropped any more. In fact, even as he took a sideways glance at his servant to verify his concerns were all in his head, he saw Merlin adopt the appearance he had seen a few times before...

Arthur had only been in a proper battle once – Camelot had not suffered many conflicts in recent times; the neighbouring kingdoms were at peace – but a battle he had been in nevertheless. He had not been very old, only about twelve, but he had been brought along regardless of his short number of years. Arthur never liked to relive the memories of the battle itself, although he did recall the time after the fighting had ended. Knights from both sides had been strewn across the floor, either dead or dying, and he had walked among them, trying to find his father who had disappeared. In fact, that was the day the king had got the scar on his shoulder.

While he walked amongst the brave soldiers, he had seen their faces, their expressions, as they lay helpless on the ground. It had been an icy night – the most injured had frozen to death. For a boy of twelve, this was an unearthly thing to witness, and some of the knights who remained, quickly took him away from the blood soaked field. He may not have endured all the horrors, but Arthur would never forget his first battle, the ones who lay dead there, the pain in their eyes...

And now Merlin had that same appearance about him. The boy was trembling with the cold; his eyes were closed, scrunched up tightly, and he had clasped his hands together so he could blow into them. Even as Arthur watched, the servant suddenly began to cough again, great spasms tearing through his body. Horrified, the prince caught hold of Merlin's shoulders to try and calm the servant's choking. It seemed to work, and Merlin took a deep shuddering breath before slumping back on the log, still gasping for air.

"Don't worry...you're gonna be alright..." Arthur told him, taking the shivering body in his arms. "I've got you...you're safe now..."

Merlin leant back against his shoulder, relaxing. He hurt so badly; the pain of all he'd been through, both physical _and _mental, was almost unbearable. One thing was for certain: if Arthur was not there, is he had not found him, he would be dead by now.

The prince listened to Merlin's breathing become more even, and stroked his friend's raven-black hair as the servant slowly drifted off to sleep. After pulling the sopping wet coat over the both of them again, Arthur realized it was not going to help either of them much if they shared it, so he covered Merlin as much as he could and shuffled himself on the log to get into a more comfortable position.

It was not long before he was drenched – if anyone had seen him now, they would have assumed he had jumped into a lake – but he was not bothered by it. All that mattered was keeping Merlin dry and making sure he got the rest he needed. The body curled up in his arms was growing steadily warmer, and it was somewhat comforting as Prince Arthur of Camelot, too, fell asleep.

* * *

**Okay, this is quite random, but... IT'S MY BIRTHDAY TOMORROW!!! :D **

**There. Now you know. **


	24. Chapter TwentyThree

**Super sorry about the late update! I just keep forgetting...sorry... :( Still, it's here now, and I hope you all enjoy it! ^.^ **

**Thanks goes to Anonymous Sister of the Author, Loopstagirl, Saturn-Jupiter, elhfiction, CrayonsPink, Scribbles111, Isis the Sphinx, Krox1, re, LovesAngst, Moonhera, MerlinStar, wobbles11, lttlbrat93, Eden.K, RandomCheesecake, enigma-kar, Wileret, Viridus Lupus, LoopyLion14, and Dragon-Fire 4343 for reviewing! :D **

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Merlin woke to the sound of birds chattering in the trees and the light of dawn shining on his face. He opened his bleary eyes further, and took in the sight of the forest. It was early morning and the sun was peeking over the distant horizon, just viable through the tall trees. The floor was carpeted in amber coloured leaves of all shapes and sizes, and it was springy under-foot from all the rain that had soaked it the night before.

Merlin took a deep breath. The icy cold air was refreshing to his throat, and he took several more breaths before looking behind him.

His eyes closed, fast asleep, Arthur lay on the scratchy woollen blanket, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. His shirt was still damp from the storm, but there was a dry patch, probably from where Merlin had slept. The young warlock did not remember the previous night much, but he did recall being dimly awake while Arthur laid him down of the ground and huddled up next to him. As the moon had shone over them both, and Merlin had slept through the darkness, his dreams had never before been sweeter.

It was warm next to the prince as Merlin lay down again. Comfortable and content, the servant almost forgot about the pain his injuries were causing him. He was with Arthur, he was safe, and nothing could hurt him. Staring up at the pale blue sky and listening to the prince's gentle breathing, his eyelids began to droop and it was not long before he fell asleep again.

* * *

An hour or two later, Merlin felt a hand on his shoulder shaking him gently.

"Sorry to wake you," Arthur's voice said, "I know you need some sleep, but you should eat something before we leave."

Merlin opened his eyes, reluctantly rolled over and sat up. His head was immediately consumed by a dull, thumping pain: the world began to spin, and before he knew it, he was slipping away into a black haze. Slithering away from consciousness once again, he was sure he was going to fall, hit the ground at any moment. Then, suddenly, someone caught him.

He opened his eyes.

And Arthur was there, an arm around stopping him from falling. Concern was written across the prince's face as he pulled Merlin into a sitting position and settled him back against the log.

"Are you okay?"

Even though ever part of his body was screaming otherwise, Merlin nodded his head. Arthur, although looking unsatisfied, returned to rummaging in his bag. It must have been what he was doing before waking his servant for there were several items already strew out across the floor, most of which were wet. It seemed that the rain had soaked his rucksack during the night, as it had done to the rest of the forest, for there was a certain smell around the place, the sort of smell that only occurred after rain. There was also a steady dripping, caused by the small beads of rain that still clung to the leaves high up in the trees, and which slid away every so often to land on the floor with a splash.

Turning his gaze from the forest, Merlin caught an item Arthur had just tossed unceremoniously over his shoulder. He looked around the camp for a moment, suddenly interested in all the stuff lying about the place. There were all kinds of things, ranging from clothes and armour, to daggers and empty water skins. But what caught Merlin's attention was just how much stuff there actually was. It was quite evident that Arthur had been travelling for quite some time...

"How long have you been away?" Merlin asked, gathering the belongings closest to him into a pile.

"About as long as you have," Arthur replied, not turning.

"How long was that?"

At this, the price swung around, surprised.

"You don't know?"

"No..." Merlin said cautiously. He was being perfectly honest. The days on the ship had all merged into one big blur. It was impossible to tell how much time he had spent there.

"Merlin, you've been gone several weeks..." Arthur replied quietly.

Merlin took an extensive breath and looked away, up to the tops of the trees. Had it really been that long since the day by the lake, the day he had felt more at home than ever before? The young warlock briefly wondered why as soon as something good came into his life, things like Camelot and friends, had to be taken away almost immediately. It just didn't seem fair. Was he, as a sorcerer and Arthur's secret guardian angel, destined to never have a normal life? A future like that might have seemed rather miserable, but as Merlin thought it over, he realized he really would not have it any other way.

Another item having just been flung out of Arthur's bag brought Merlin out of his thoughts. His attention was turned to the rucksack now, and with a start, he noticed the item Arthur was sliding out of it. His eyes widened. He had thought it was gone. How had Arthur found it? It was impossible...Arthur was not a mortal...

"Where did you get that?" he asked, unable to keep a definite hint of panic out of his voice.

"What? This?" Arthur held the golden hilted sword up into the light and expected it carefully.

"Yes!"

After a confused moment, wondering why Merlin was so frightened by the sword, Arthur retold the night he had been given Excalibur by the mysterious stranger. As the prince ended his tale, Merlin suddenly found this latest piece of information slotting into place. Maybe the sword had been sent to Arthur to destroy the cube. It was possible, was it not? The Old Religion did work in strange ways, ways that would probably never be clear to either warlock or prince. It was not so unbelievable that they would know when there was evil to be fought.

Finding what he had been looking for, Arthur pulled the half eaten loaf of bread out of his bag and handed it to Merlin, who took it ravenously.

"I've been thinking about the whole – you know – cube thing," Arthur spoke up after a moment. Merlin looked up expectantly, tearing a chunk from the bread. "I'm going to the mountains to destroy it with this." He held up Excalibur, and then turned to Merlin, a sober expression on his face as if about to divulge in something he knew Merlin would not like. "But you're not coming with me."

"_What_?" Merlin dropped the loaf, horrified.

"You're too injured, Merlin. If you came with me, you'd die." There was a definite indication of finality to his words as Arthur continued to pack his backpack, not sparing Merlin a glance.

"But –"

"No."

"Arthur, I have to –"

"No."

"But you can't –"

"I said no, _Mer_lin!" the prince snapped, exasperated. "You are _not_ coming with me! It would be a death sentence! You're far too weak! Anyway, its not like I can't manage without you."

Merlin wished he could tell Arthur why he was wrong, but he could not blurt out that he had magic, the only way to destroy the cube. And at the same time, he could not let Arthur go solo. That would be sending _him _to his death.

Though unsure of what he would say if allowed, he was about to speak again when Arthur stopped him in his tracks.

"I'm leaving you in a inn at Stormwake docks. You'll be safe there, someone can look after you, you can have a decent meal, and you can recover. I will go to the mountains, and you would do well to not follow me –"

"Arthur, I have to come with you!" Merlin cut in, panicking at the thought of being left in a nice, warm bed, while Arthur went to face his doom. He would never come back...Merlin would never get to say the things he needed to say...never get to tell him of his secret...never be truly honest with his friend...fail his destiny...

"Why?" Arthur's angry voice pulled him out of his train of thought. "I can get along perfectly without you! You are not coming with me, and that _is_ final!"

But it was not final. All the way down the beach, with Merlin forced onto the horse, Arthur sitting behind him, trying to ignore his venomous disagreement, Merlin argued...

And argued...

And Argued...

When they eventually arrived at Stormwake docks, Arthur had been put through every disagreement, threat, plea and quarrel Merlin had within him. Even as Arthur half dragged, half carried, him into an inn, up a stairs and to a room, Merlin threw divergence at him.

"But I _need_ to come! You don't _understand_! I _have_ to come! You'll _die_ if you don't let me come! _Please_, Arthur! I'll...I'll...I'll jump out the window if you don't allow me to come! Okay, so I wont do that...BUT I MIGHT! You have to let me come! Arthur, listen to me! You can't go alone! _You need me_!"

Having heard this several times since they had left the forest, Arthur completely ignored Merlin and shoved him into the room proffered to him by a maid. As he was about to leave again, Merlin suddenly sprung up, seemingly discovering some new found energy, and attempted to scrabble past Arthur, who was in the doorway.

"MERLIN!" Arthur bellowed, loosing his temper with the servant, taking hold of Merlin's shoulders and shaking him hard. The young warlock sobered up immediately, looking frightened by Arthur's harsh tone. "I'm telling you, as your master, prince, future king and damn _friend_, just – stay – here! It's for your own good. Please...you have to trust me."

"But –"

"No! Stay here! Don't make me lock you in..."

"Well, you'll have to, cause I'm coming!"

"Fine!"

"_FINE_!"

His anger levels now boiling over, Arthur locked the door and began to stride furiously down the hallway.

"NO! LET ME OUT! _ARTHUR_!" Merlin began pounding his fists on the door wildly.

Sighing to himself, Arthur made his way up to the counter where he paid a member of staff to look after Merlin. He then went back to his horse. Short, quick and efficient. It wasn't like he had to show he cared.

Watching him from the window of the dusty little room, Merlin ground his teeth angrily. Arthur's arrogant nature was going to be the death of him this time...

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**Cliffhanger? Ish? :}**


	25. Chapter TwentyFour

**Ta-da! The next chapter has arrived! There are a few new faces - and some older ones too - but I would just like to point out one of them, and that is Jethro. Yes, Colin played him in Doctor Who. Yes, he was too sexy for description. Yes, he doesn't get any lines.  
Oh, well, he'll get some later! :}**

**Thanks goes to archeress of silverbow, CrayonsPink, Loopstagirl, Krox1, elhfiction, RandomCheesecake, re, Isis the Sphinx, Ohtar Vicky, enigma-kar, lttlbrat93, Moonhera, MerlinStar, Anonymous Sister of the Author, Saturn-Jupiter, and Scribbles111 for reviewing! :D **

**And let the chapter commence! **

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The mountains of Berwyn were huge. Tall, jagged grey rocks climbed high into the sky of whirling black clouds like fingers reaching for the heavens. During the ride to the mountains over a wide and dusty plain, everything Arthur had seen was dead. Rabbits, birds, fishes in the streams - everything. It was not a worldly place. His quest drove the prince on.

Eventually, he reached the side of the great pillars of rock through which a thin path crept, winding narrowly left and right. Arthur's horse had been agitated throughout the journey in the wake of the mountain, but now they were closer it reared up on its hind legs, fear evident in it's eyes. Arthur tumbled off it's back and hit the dusty ground with a thump. The horse ran, foam at it's mouth, and it seemed to take all sound with it.

Silence fell.

Arthur picked himself up, cursing the horse under his breath, and turned to face the path. A stale breath of wind whispered through the passageway, muttering in his ear.

Painfully aware of how every footstep alternated into an almost deafening thud, Arthur began to sidle down the path. It was the only way he could see that led into the maze of giant rocks, yet as he went deeper in, other paths made their presence known. He followed one of them when the original ended, only to find a dead end. He retraced his steps and took another passage.

The air had grown cold. He shivered. Something beneath his foot cracked loudly, echoing over the stone, and he looked down. Lifting his foot, he realized what he had trodden on. A skull, its jaw offset and screaming, stared up at him through empty eye sockets. He swallowed and kept moving, only to find that the first was not the only skull. He came to a pit of bones. Staring over the sea of cracked, murky white skeletons, Arthur felt suddenly sick, but when he turned to go back, he could not find the way to the path he had been following. Whether he had simply overlooked it, or magic had closed the way, he was not sure.

There was a small ledge running along the side of the pit, and it seemed to be his only way across the bones without wading through them, and he moved to the side and began to edge along the small lintel, trying not to look down at all the dead faces staring blindly up at him. Although his foot slipped a few times on the loose stones, he made his way to the other side without falling.

The path he had now reached was wider, and in the distance he could see it led up to a long slope. Above the slope, a long, thin bolt of lighting, emanating from the dark clouds above, shot down to earth every minute or so. As Arthur began to make his way down the path, he was sure he could hear voices of some kind.

Stones hurtled past him, upset by his feet, as the prince started to ascend the slope. When he was mere feet from the top, he drew Excalibur from the sheath. He could sense the magic. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It was like the very stones around him oozed sorcery. He swallowed and took a deep breath before peering over the top of the slope.

He saw two things. The first was Brun, standing with his right arm outstretched over the second thing, the sight of which caused Arthur's heart to give a great shudder inside his chest. The cube had caused so much trouble, so much hurt, so much pain. Arthur felt a range of emotions well up inside him, a majority of which he had to fight back down again. Fear would not help him now.

Even as he struggled with his feelings, Brun's murmurings – for his was voice he had heard – became louder and more earnest in tone. Arthur briefly wondered if this was some kind of ceremony, but his thoughts were disrupted, and he was shocked when figures began to emerge from the cube. Shadowy and vague, the first to appear was a young male, probably about Arthur's age, who had dark hair, the fringe of which hung over his eyes, and whom wore a long, black, sweeping cloak that hung around him like mist.

A loud voice spoke, not issued by either Brun or the ghost like figure, but by a disembodied being.

"Jethro, Necromancer of the Great Darkness. Long may he live."

After the voice had died away, another figure began to rise up from the cube. He was older than the first, more muscular and world hardened, wearing a similar garb, but his was of a formless golden colour, small jewels lining the hems.

The voice spoke again.

"Koran, Magus, Sage and Devout of the Black Sea. And long may he rule."

Again, the voice ended, and one more figure was drawn out of the cube. As she took shape – for she was a woman, beautiful and with electrifying blue eyes – Arthur, with a jolt, recognized her immediately. She was the stranger he had met in the forest when he had been trying to find the Morteous flower that would save Merlin's life. She had tried to kill him.

Arthur's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.

"Nimueh, High Priestess of the Old Religion. May her mercy be swift."

* * *

Back in the inn, where he had been thumping his tired fist against the door of his room, Merlin suddenly felt a shiver go down his spine. He had felt a similar sensation before when the Avanc had poisoned Camelot's water supply. It had woken him, frightened him. His magic was trying to tell him something. He knew almost immediately what to do.

He was exhausted, and although hampered greatly by his injuries, Merlin stumbled over to the window. Wiping the grimy glass with his sleeve, he saw below the place where the inhabitants of the inn left their horses. He knew he had to get to the mountains by any means necessary, even stealing. Moreover, he also knew that if he merely used his magic to open the door of his room, he would be caught. He knew Arthur well enough to know he would have paid someone to keep an eye on him. Escaping by the window was much easier.

A flash of gold, and the window opened. Slithering his body out, Merlin managed to catch hold of the ledge before he fell. As his weight began to pull on his arms, he could not help a whimper of pain escaping his lips. Arthur was right; he was still too weak from the injuries littering his small body.

Not that he would let it stop him.

Peering over his shoulder,and trying to ignore the pain, Merlin sought for a safe place to land, and let go of the led. A blur of bricks and sky rushed in front of him, before he landed heavily on the ground. His legs buckled with the impact, and he fell over, disturbing a chicken, which scrambled away, shrieking. Groaning, Merlin climbed stiffly to his feet.

After checking hastily to see if anyone was watching him, he made light work of the reins which tied the nearest horse to a rail built into the side of the building. He climbed with difficulty onto the creature's back, and rammed his heels into its sides. The horse galloped out of the stable area and tore down the cobbled street, and people threw themselves both left and right in their haste to avoid being trampled.

He followed the same route Arthur had taken, and found the path which led into the mountains, all the while worrying whether he was too late. Every instinct was screaming to him that Arthur was in danger, and their was no way in heaven or on earth could not ignore it.

* * *

"I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him." Sheridan slammed his fourth pint of beer down on the table, and wiped the foam from his snarling lip. He had thought he had killed that annoying little runt for thwarting the mutiny, but his men had reported seeing him and that _prince_ – Lord knows how he had turned up – in the forest, both quite alive and well. After all the trouble the young warlock had caused him on the ship, it was no wonder Sheridan now hated his guts.

He belched loudly and reached for another pint.

From what they had managed to pick out of the prince and servant's conversation, his men had also told him that the pair of them were setting off to the mountains of Berwyn to destroy the cube. Sheridan wondered how they had come across it before, but the alcohol in his system did not allow him any rational thoughts. In addition, it was causing him to wonder whether or not he could get his revenge on the runt-ish one for all the trouble...maybe finish what he had started...maybe just find the kid and kill him...it wouldn't be too difficult...he knew where he was...it wasn't like his prince friend could help him...he was only a boy...no match for Sheridan...easy prey...a helpless creature...yes...yes...ridding the world of Merlin would be highly amusing...

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**I'm gonna give you some spoilers for the next chapter. Why? Because I feel like it. ^^**

**What will Jethro's single line be...?**

**Will Sheridan ever give up...? **

**Can Merlin keep his magic secret...?**

**You'll just have to wait to find out! **

**Oh, the drama. **


	26. Chapter TwentyFive

**Drum roll, please, for the next chapter has arrived! :D Special**__**thanks to Loopstagirl for all the help with this. Thanks, hun! ^^**

**Thanks also goes to Scribbles111, Loopylion14, Loopstagirl, Krox1, elhfiction, Isis the Sphinx, CrayonsPink, MerlinStar, Anonymous Sister of the Author, lttlbrat93, enigma-kar, Moonhera, RandomCheesecake, Viridus Lupus and Saturn-Jupiter for reviewing! :D **

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He was not sure what it was, but something was drawing Arthur closer towards the cube. He slid down the opposite side of the slope and picked himself up, staring at Brun, who had not seemed to notice him, and the other three figures. He was sure they had become more solid, and he held Excalibur up at them all, swallowing his fear.

Nimueh chuckled and stepped forwards, a cocky eyebrow raised.

"Good day, young prince. How long it has been..."

Arthur said nothing.

"Oh, how boring!" Koran spoke up, laughing. "The little Pendragon does not wish to speak to us. Maybe he thinks us too below him!"

Jethro spat on the ground.

"Royal filth."

"Indeed," Nimueh agreed. "But come now, Arthur, do you not wish to learn of the circumstances you are in? Are you not curious about why we are here?"

Arthur remained silent, wary, and waited for her to go on. Nimueh seemed to think his in-kept reserve was instead a decision to not play along, and became annoyed.

"Very well, if you wish to tire me, then I ought not waste more time," she said curtly. "We are the three greatest sorcerers who ever lived. I believe you know our names already: they are of importance, for we are the ones who crafted the NightmareChild." She waved her hand at the cube. "Its single function is very simple – it kept our souls safe after we died. It was a 'plan B', so that if we ever died, our souls would be kept safe until a willing volunteer released us..." Nimueh inclined her head towards Brun, who merely blinked, looking dazed. "Brun was not our original plan. We were to use you...but you resisted the nightmares remarkably well...showed such diligence. We couldn't take you. We had to find another. So here we are, back from the dead. Extraordinary, don't you think?"

"You almost killed me..." Arthur spoke. "You killed Merlin..." And his mind suddenly flew back to that dreaded day when everything had taken place, the fear and the misery...the tears.

"Yet he still lives," Nimueh said dismissively, as if it were not a matter worthy of her attention.

But Arthur was lost in the past.

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Merlin crossed the sea of bones just in time to see Arthur scrambling over the top of the slope. He quickly followed and ascended the slope. When he reached the top and peered over the edge, much like Arthur had before him, he was not surprised to see the three figures standing like ghosts, not yet fully formed, in the rocky field. Arthur was also there standing, sword in hand, and his arm was outstretched towards Nimueh.

Merlin decided to let the events before him unfold, and then discern whether or not he ought to help the prince. There was no point in blowing cover without requirement.

As he watched, listening to what the sorcerers were saying, he did not notice the man creeping up behind him, a dagger, long and thin, glinting in his hand. After a moment, Merlin heard a few pebbles moving and he whipped around. He blanched when he saw Sheridan, and immediately tried to scramble away, terrified, but Sheridan grabbed him by his collar, swinging him around to face him.

"You just don't ever die, do you?" he hissed into Merlin's face, baring his teeth. "Well, that's about to change."

Merlin was aware of nothing but the pain that suddenly penetrated deep into him. As his hands clutched at the wound, he could feel himself sliding down the rocks, adding fresh scrapes to his battered body. But they were nothing now, not compared to the wound that was allowing his life to leak away. Even as he desperately tried to push it back into the skin, he knew that he was dying. No one could be stabbed like that and survive. Gaius had always said that he had some sort of immunity to magical attacks, but with those more normal like a knife blade sliding effortlessly through his flesh the way that it would through butter, he was just as vulnerable to as everyone else.

He was dimly aware of Arthur yelling his name and running over. But try as he might, Merlin found that he could not focus on the prince's swimming face. It seemed so unfair that he had finally been reunited with his friend, only to leave him again so soon. But wait. He didn't have to leave. There was something he could do to save himself. But even if it worked, it may be the very action that could get him killed. If he was dying anyway, then, Merlin figured, he had nothing else to lose.

Locking eyes with Arthur one last time, Merlin pleaded silently for him to forgive what he was about to do, to forget the fact that he had been lying to him from the day they had first met. It all seemed so long ago now.

Arthur's brow crumpled as he received the silent message, but was not sure what Merlin was about to do. His face had lost all colour as the blood drained away, yet his eyes seemed to have regained some of their light. In fact, they had regained so much of their light that they were beginning to change colour. Arthur blinked and glanced away, but when he looked back, he was certain that Merlin's eyes were no longer blue.

They were gold.

Before he had time to say anything, Arthur jumped backwards in shock as strange words came pouring out of Merlin's mouth. The air around him seemed to grow warmer and warmer, and even as Arthur watched, Merlin rose into the air. His head was tipped back, his arms spread wide, as if inviting the world in. With nothing to prevent it, the blood poured from the fatal wound in his chest, but Merlin seemed not to notice. He was spinning ever so slowly, his floating body looking eerie even as the strange words continued to flow unhindered from his mouth.

Gazing open-mouthed at the suspended figure before him, Arthur noticed the change in the air. The warmth was almost unbearable. But something else was happening. Random bursts of colour were materialising and flowing through the air the way that a leaf would float down a stream. All of the light was drawn to Merlin, and wrapped its way around his body. Every part of him was aglow, making him look like some sort of angel. Despite what he knew that he was witnessing, Arthur desperately hoped that was not what he was becoming.

The light grew and grew in intensity until the prince was forced to look away. Even through his shut eyes, the whiteness of the light penetrated his lids, causing him to flinch. There was something unearthly _good_ about the light, and Arthur knew in his heart that it was helping his friend. As the light began to slowly fade, the prince was aware of the silence that was somehow managing to echo mysteriously around him, bouncing off the rocks and increasing, until it was the most unnatural sound that Arthur had ever heard.

Opening his eyes, the prince looked back at the suspended figure. Merlin was still floating, but his head was lolling forwards and the words had stopped coming. The light may have calmed down, but Merlin was still glowing. Gracefully, the figure was lowered back to earth, his feet only just touching the tips of the rocks. Worried that he might hurt himself, Arthur made to move forward, but was stopped short when the figure looked at him. Blazing gold eyes, all azure blue consumed by the storm, stared back out of the pale face, and they burned with all the power that was held within him. Stepping forward, Merlin walked forward from the top of the rocks onto thin air. Arthur blinked again, startled. Merlin was walking towards him, but he was walking on the air, still glowing mysteriously.

Coming to a stop just in front of the prince, Merlin stayed hovering. Arthur found that for the first time ever, he was properly looking up to someone. Tilting his head back, he craned his neck to get a better look at the being in front of him. An aura was being given off that betrayed the strength of the magic that was coursing through his friend's veins, making Arthur shiver slightly.

Without saying another word, Merlin raised his hand. As he did so, Excalibur, which had fallen from Arthur's hand in his shock, rose gracefully into the air, rotating on the spot slightly. The golden eyes flashed once and the sword erupted into a burst of colour. Blue flames licked the sword from hilt to tip, dancing their way down the blade and back up again; yet no heat was given off from the flames at all, just a strange sense of justice. With a flick of his wrist, Merlin sent the sword flying. Watching its progress with his eyes, Arthur saw it fly majestically in a curve before arching straight down. With another burst of light, the sword embedded itself in the cube.

Even as the prince stood there, open-mouthed, the magic around Merlin disappeared into nothing. The light seemed to almost fizzle away, and with a sigh, the warlock slumped back down onto the ground. His face was a deathly pale and his eyes were closed; yet Arthur could see no trace of the wound that had been tearing his life away. There was not even the smallest scratch remaining; the only evidence that it had ever happened was the blood still soaking Merlin's shirt.

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**Constructive criticism and reviews are extremely welcome -- a writer such as myself needs to know where she has excelled and where she has failed! :P**


	27. Chapter TwentySix

**Oh, wow! This is, like, the second to last chapter...it's gone so quickly... :(**

**Doctor Who on Sunday was incredible! But I don't want David Tennant to go! :'(**

**Anyway, thanks goes to RandomCheesecake, Scribbles111, MerlinStar, Saturn-Jupiter, CrayonsPink, Dianne, Krox1, Isis the Sphinx, Anonymous Sister of the Author, enigma-kar, lttlbrat93, archeress of the silverbow, Loopstagirl, elhfiction, WereCatsRule, Viridus Lupus, Jellyhair and Ohtar Vicky for reviewing! Thank you! :D**

**And special thanks to Loopstagirl again. I owe you so much! ^.^**

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Brun had fallen over; Nimueh was screaming, and all of the three figures were almost on their knees. But all that Arthur saw was Sheridan, the man who had so badly mistreated Merlin, his best friend, brother; Sheridan, who had just stabbed Merlin and almost killed him; Sheridan, who _had _to die.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Arthur yanked Excalibur from the cube, and began to rush up the slope towards the man, who stood, dazed, not seeming to notice anything. The prince refused, and felt it wrong, to kill a man in cold blood, so he first got Sheridan's attention.

"Draw your sword," Arthur said, gesturing to the scabbard by Sheridan's side.

"What?" Sheridan stared at him incredulously.

"Draw your sword," Arthur repeated, swinging Excalibur over his shoulder - his signature move.

"Do you wish to fight me, prince?" Sheridan asked mockingly. "You do know you don't stand a chance."

"Draw your sword," Arthur said once again.

Laughing, Sheridan drew it. Not even waiting another second, Arthur leapt at him, hammering Excalibur against his enemy's own sword. Sheridan seemed taken back by this unexpected ferocity, but quickly compensated for it, and dodged out the way, leaving Arthur to stumble over thin air. The prince hastily regained his balance, and rounded on Sheridan again. Again and again Excalibur came crashing down on Sheridan's sword. The man was becoming increasingly worried now. The prince seemed driven by anger, and he was much younger than himself. But no, he could not think like that. He could never die.

Arthur, with a great swing of Excalibur, sliced Sheridan's sword into two clean-cut pieces. The metal shot away and clanged down the far slope. Hiding his shock of the sword's ability, Sheridan dropped the now useless weapon, and instead picked up his dagger, determined not to be defeated. But Arthur was too quick - Sheridan never made the blow - and with another swing of Excalibur, the prince had slid the sword into Sheridan's stomach. Sheridan looked shocked, his mouth forming an 'O' and his eyes widening into dark depths of pain. His face hard and unfeeling, Arthur withdrew the sword, leaving Sheridan to tumble down the other side of the slope.

Arthur looked down at him, his face showing no remorse. Never again would Merlin suffer at the man's hand. Never. And he felt that he had almost done the world a favour by ridding the man of it.

By the crumpled remains of the cube, the three figures were now on their knees, writhing around in agony. From a lengthy crack along the surface of the cube, a great shining light poured, increasing in intensity. Sheer power gushed from the thing in waves. Where he stood the prince was crushed flat to the floor, and a tremendous explosion swept over the mountains. The light was gone in a matter of seconds, and he saw the cube sitting in all its innocence for a moment, before it suddenly shattered into a million shards of crushed light. Two of the three figures – Koran and Jethro – screamed, and in a flurry of mist, evaporated from sight. As he watched on, Arthur saw Nimueh turn her face to him, fury sparkling in her eyes, before she too was gone.

And then, a great wind began to blow, forming a tall column, and dragging everything towards it. The shards left from the NightmareChild rose into the air along with the last traces of the three sorcerers. Arthur felt himself beginning to slide over the rocks and down the slope, pulled by the ferocious wind. Merlin, who was still lying unconscious, some meters below, also began to slither across the ground. Scrambling down the slope, the wind whipping his hair, Arthur caught hold of him and dragged him back, fully aware that he could not save Brun, who, still in a state of unconsciousness, had already been drawn into the wind.

Sheltered behind a rock, the prince pulled Merlin into his arms, and stared in awe at the wind, which was now, slowly at first, but with escalating speed, soaring upwards towards a break in the black sky. For a moment the darkness seemed to be rippling, the air itself quivering. And then the sky began to suck the winds up, and with one last explosion, which sent the dark clouds fleeing from the heavens, and both Merlin and Arthur flying to separate sides of the rocks, everything stopped.

Arthur climbed to his feet, and stood, staring up into the sky. The sword was held loosely in his hand, his eyes fixated on the spot where the cube had vanished. Part of him felt numb, not able to process what he had just seen. Eventually however, one single thought registered in his head...

_Merlin_.

Tearing his eyes away from the sky, he frantically searched the rocks, not quite sure what he was going to say when he found the servant. He was not even sure what he was feeling, let alone what was going to come out of his mouth. It did not take him long to locate Merlin; he was still where he had fallen, after using magic. Merlin had used magic. Powerful magic as well. And judging by the look in his eyes before it had happened, he knew precisely what he was doing. Which would mean that he had been doing it for a long time. Under Arthur's very nose. That hurt.

Scrambling across the rocks, Arthur dropped to his knees by Merlin's side. It did not matter what thoughts were raging through his head, it was relief that he felt when he saw that the boy was conscious. His friend's eyes were fixed on the same spot that had captivated Arthur's gaze. Merlin had obviously seen the cube disappear, although how much more, Arthur was not sure.

"Merlin?" he called softly.

Merlin turned his head towards the prince, looking deep into his eyes. What surprised Arthur was that there was no trace of fear, or remorse of any kind. He was looking at the prince in the same way before everything had happened to turn Arthur's world upside down. Almost as if he did not know what had just occurred.

"What happened?" Merlin asked, his voice betraying the exhaustion and pain that he was in. He looked so lost and fragile lying among the rocks that Arthur knew that he couldn't be angry. Not now. Not ever. Although what emotion filled the void that was echoing deep within him, he was not certain.

"Let's just say that it was very illuminating," Arthur responded, watching Merlin's face carefully for a reaction. To his dismay, Merlin still seemed to have no idea what he had done, for his face remained blank and neutral.

"Almost like _magic_," he continued, not noticing the slightly bitter note that had crept into his voice.

But Merlin noticed. Turning pale, his eyes finally showed what Arthur had been looking for. Although why he wanted his best friend to look at him in such horror and fear, not even the prince could answer that.

"What did I do?" Merlin whispered.

Arthur had expected him to deny everything, but maybe the idiot had finally realised what a terrible liar he had always been. And yet Arthur had never once seen through the obvious lies. Feeling a fool, the anger that he had been expecting from the very beginning finally burst forth.

"What did you _DO__?_" Arthur's voice rose in volume, causing Merlin to flinch. "You only destroyed the cube with one flick of your wrist, after healing yourself from a fatal injury! I – I thought...." his voice trailed off as he realised what he was most angry at. It wasn't Merlin, however much he wanted to unleash it all on him for the lies. It was himself, for not being able to protect him.

"You thought what?" Merlin's voice sounded slightly stronger as the smallest amount of hope entered it cautiously, as if he wasn't sure whether he should be feeling it or not.

"I thought you had _died_, Merlin. And all along, you've been able to do all these...things, with just one word."

"I don't always need words," Merlin said softly, anxious to be able to be given the chance to explain himself, although he was not sure whether Arthur was ready to listen. "I've been able to use magic since before I could remember. I didn't _study_ it, Arthur; it wasn't something that I chose. _It_ chose _me_. You know I'd never use it to harm you or anyone else, don't you? Please, Arthur, you must know this."

Arthur merely shrugged. He supposed that he did know. Only good luck had come his way since Merlin entered his life. But with a small start, the prince realised that it was not good luck at all. It had all been Merlin, with his extraordinary gifts. Every peril he had faced and walked away from practically unscathed when he should have died. All of those times, and yet he had never realised...

"It was you, wasn't it?" he asked, and elaborated when the warlock looked at him in confusion. "With Lady Helen and the dagger. The griffin. My miraculous recovery after the bite from the Questing beast. The forests of Balor, the light I saw when I was trying to save you_. _All of those times, it has been you. And I'm guessing that there was more to the whole Sophia thing than you hitting me over the head with a lump of wood..."

"You don't want to know," Merlin told him, shivering slightly at the memory of trying to find the drowning prince in the vast lake. Taking a shuddering breath, he voiced the biggest concern on his mind.

"Are you going to kill me?"

His voice was soft, so quiet that the prince must have strained his ears to hear it. But for the reaction that he got, he might as well as shouted it as loud as he could. Arthur visibly jumped, emotions flickering across his face almost too quickly for the warlock to identify what was going on inside. But he did notice the concern, the fear – of what; Merlin was not fully certain – the guilt. But the thing that scared him the most was the loyalty. It was undeniable, but Merlin was not sure to whom it belonged. To him, his friend, or to his father, the king. Depending on which, determined two very different outcomes.

"No," Arthur muttered, almost as quietly.

As soon as he said the words out loud, he knew that was the truth. Merlin had not told him because it was his _life _on the line. It wasn't out of spite. It was out of protection. Even now, if it had not been in this situation, Arthur himself was not sure how he would have reacted to finding out that his servant was a sorcerer. No wonder Merlin hadn't managed to pluck up the courage to open up before.

Hoping the sting of betrayal would ease with time, Arthur made his descision. His father or his friend? In this case, and with no doubts in his mind whatsoever, it was his friend.

"No, I'm not going to kill you. Nor let anyone else. I'm going to take care of you. Then we are going to go home and put this behind us. I would say 'act as if never happened', but I'm not sure that will be possible. I don't know if I can protect you against the king, Merlin, but he won't find out through me. You have my word."

Overcome with emotion, Merlin felt a lump rise in his throat, making it hard to get the words out. If only Arthur knew how much this meant to him, how long he had wanted to tell him everything, be accepted for who he was and no longer have to hide.

"Thank you," he stated, and no more was needed.

The emotion behind the words made Arthur smile at him fondly, understanding the depth to those two simple words. He finally felt as if he understood Merlin. After all of this time, it was only now that he realised just how much Merlin had constantly sacrificed to stay by his side. It was more than anyone had ever given him before, and he was not going to let that slip through his fingers.

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**So whadaya think? :}**


	28. Chapter TwentySeven

**In the words of Bradley James, I have to say I'm slightly speechless. Merlin today was 100% perfect. His hopelessly bad excuses...and the new "keep Arthur fit as a fiddle" regime...the incredulous Arthur (who, for some reason that eludes me, is sexier like that)...the simply beautiful romance between Freya and our favourite warlock (which, by the way, had me in tears almost twice)...and, last, but certainly not least, THE NOOGIE!!! It was so sweet I've got toothache. Whoever-was-responsible-for-that-noogie, I can't express in words how much it made me smile. The banter was incredible. LONG LIVE MERLIN & ARTHUR!!! **

**After such a whopping great episode, this fic must seem somewhat petty, but nevertheless I'm posting the last chapter! Once again, thanks goes to those wonderful people who reviewed: enigma-kar, Loopstagirl, unicorndiva, Saturn-Jupiter, Dianne, MerlinStar, Scribbles111, Loopylion4, RandomCheesecake, Haliii, Anonymous Sister of the Author, CrayonsPink, Moonhera, Krox1, Viridus Lupus, lttlbrat93, Isis the Sphinx, and elhfiction. **

**So here it is; the very last instalment. I hope you enjoy it. :)**

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"It's cheek, that's what it is," Arthur grumbled. He was referring to the fact he was being told that he had to pay for a horse, not just take one without so much as a by your leave.

Merlin, who was leaning against a wall, legs crossed, sighed. Arthur seemed to think that just because he was royalty, he could get whatever he wanted. And for the most part, he was probably right. But (apparently) no one knew who he was, resulting in the fact his title was useless. Merlin guessed this was because they were still too far from Camelot for the prince to be recognized for who he was. They were in Brinkwell.

Arthur had – well, from what he could make out of the prince's words, anyway – either carried or dragged Merlin back to the docks. It had felt like dragging was the more likely statement. But still, they had both made it back to the inn, where they had stayed for nearly a week, simply in order for Merlin to become conscious again. It had taken about three days, but the young warlock had eventually woken to find himself tucked up in a bed, Arthur asleep and snoring loudly in a chair by the side of it. After that, they'd stayed a few more days so that Merlin could get some 'R & R' – as Arthur called it. Probably a knight term, the meaning of which was not apparent to Merlin.

But finally the time came for them to return home, so they packed up what little belongings they had, and hired a ship to Brinkwell. As he had gingerly stepped up the gangplank that led to the boat, Merlin had been quite apprehensive. Large ships brought back unwelcome memories. But now he was with Arthur, he began to see the other side of sea life...the fishing when the ship was in anchor...the fun that could be had in annoying the sailors to the point of suicide...the laughing with a friend...

They had made a beeline straight for Brinkwell docks, and arrived there in no less than a week. All that now remained of the journey home was to obtain a horse and ride a few short miles back to Camelot.

As the thought of Camelot, his _home_, sprung into Merlin's mind for the millionth time that day, the young warlock shivered happily. He briefly reflected on how he would not even be alive to go home if it were not for Arthur. Words were beyond describing just how he felt. He was so indebted to the prince for his easiness with his magic that whenever he tried to thank the prince for it, nothing but a few strangled squeaks escaped his lips before he gave up, and merely grinned goofily. At times such as these, Arthur would give him a strange look as if to say, "You idiot," but at the same time, "Don't worry, I know what you mean,". It was one of those things that only Arthur could accomplish.

"Like I said," Arthur muttered to him, leading over to Merlin the two horses that he had managed to buy, "cheek."

"Why so?" Merlin asked, knowing he was probably supposed to respond, as he took his horse reigns and swung himself onto its back.

"_Mer_lin," Arthur exasperated, "we have just saved their skins from Nimueh and co. and they don't even thank us for it!"

"Well, they don't exactly know," Merlin pointed out rationally.

"That's no excuse..." Arthur grumbled, pulling himself onto his own horse.

Merlin rolled his eyes – albeit affectionately – and spurred his horse on.

The road back to Camelot seemed to take forever, and yet no time at all... The wind whipping his hair erratically, refreshing his face, Merlin rode at a gallop over the grassy green plains. They passed towns and cities, rode through streams and rivers, and wove in and out of the tall trees of the forest.

As they reached the top of the last hill and the mass of turrets, flags and stonework of Camelot castle appeared, Merlin felt a sudden rush of glee. Smirking, he turned to Arthur who had arrived there before him, and was staring at the castle with a smile on his face.

"Want a rematch?"

"What rematch?" Arthur asked, confused.

"You know, a rematch for when I beat you at that race down by the lake. C'mon, don't tell me you don't remember."

"I remember it perfectly!" Arthur expostulated. "I won!"

"Hmm...you might want Gaius to have a look at you...your memory seems to be getting worse..."

"You wish," Arthur said, spurring his horse on. "Idiot."

_The End_

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**Ah, the end. Feels like the end of an era in some ways. But don't go thinking I'm gone that easily! When next you hear of me, I shall be posting a new one shot in which Merlin's scarf becomes possessed, attacks him and goes on a rampage throughout Camelot. If nothing else, I can guarantee you'll have that memory imprinted into mind forever. **

**And I would just like to give a special thank to those who reviewed ever single chapter. Your support means the world, really. :) **

**So, ta-ta for now! See you all soon I hope! **

**MBM**


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